


Priestly's Pesto

by amazinmango



Category: Supernatural, Ten Inch Hero
Genre: Background Sam/Jess - Freeform, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, dean as boaz priestly, lots of sammiches, please let the deli counter know if you have a nut allergy, sammiches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 66,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazinmango/pseuds/amazinmango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man with a mohawk, a tax accountant adrift, a brother not so lost and the sandwich that brings them together. (Or at least it's tasty.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Priestly's Pesto

**Author's Note:**

> MASSIVE thanks to [punkascas](http://punkascas.tumblr.com/), fantastic artist and enabler extraordinaire. [Masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5269208) here. Blame the pink shake, I did.
> 
> A very grateful thank-you to [padaleckhi](http://padaleckhi.tumblr.com/) for a VERY patient and thorough beta run (remaining mistakes are alllll mine). AND AND AND AND
> 
> Anachronisms abound, as this is roughly set in 2007, but Priestly has played Skyrim (circa 2011) and the phones/computers/pseudo-tablets are mysteriously more similar to those of today than several years prior. Suspend thy disbelief and enjoy.

 

 

**DISTILLED**

_In which we gain an intimate understanding of the mushroom_

“We are vinegaring this shit,” Priestly says, closing the microwave door with authority.

“Don’t slam the microwave,” Jo says, in her overly-deep Priestly-voice.

“I definitively shut the door, I did not slam it,” Priestly says without looking away from the sauté pan he’s tending. “Also, whoever fucked with my microwave is destined for extreme pain in the very near future.”

“Chuck was here while you were gone,” Jo says, unimpressed with Priestly’s growling. “He loves pasta with red sauce.”

“Yeah, and he was supposed to water the plants too. Did you see the friggin’ spider plant out there?”

“Did you see that the soil was wet? Worry not, big guy. I came to the rescue.”

Priestly lets out an amused huff and gently moves the mushrooms around in the pan. “Dunno what I’d do without you.”

Jo’s response is muffled by the fridge. She emerges holding a 7-Up that she cracks noisily. “Want the white wine?” she says, pushing her blonde hair behind one ear.

“Mm,” Priestly says. Jo steps around him to the small shelves the tiny bottles of drugstore Chardonnay live on, between the bulk-size garlic powder and lemon-pepper seasoning and the cans of stewed tomatoes.

She twists the tops off of two; Priestly accepts one from her and splashes it into the pan with a sizzle. The other he sits next to the little glass dish of dried porcini. “M’gonna snag me a nap,” Jo says, leaving him at the stove to stir the white buttons around before he warms the second little bottle of wine and pours it over the dried porcini, inhaling their strong scent and the hot alcohol.

Dried mushrooms are best reconstituted in warm white wine for about fifteen minutes. The liquid is then strained—nothing fancy, just a strong paper towel held taut over the container—and the liquid and mushrooms themselves added to the dish in question; in this case, soup. The mushrooms can be put directly into boiling water dry when making soups, but that way lay rubbery stems and bits of dirt in the broth. Hence the slow warming by wine—Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio being superior to sweeter whites.

This is the gospel according to Priestly.

Soaking the mushrooms in warmed wine slowly brings out their flavor, while the wine goes to work on the flesh. The mushrooms are reconstituted with moisture while the alcohol breaks woodier species down a little, softens things up and really wakes up the flavors. Some dried porcini added to a pot of fresh white buttons and chopped portobella in butter and herbs—now that’s the start of something delicious.

Of course, you have to like mushrooms, and if you live with Priestly, you generally try mushrooms at some point.

Thing is, Priestly loves cooking. He’s fairly good at it, in an unassuming way. He likes to make dishes that call for a little something extra just as much as he’d make some baked mac and cheese from (mostly) scratch and call it a day. Priestly can do fancy mushroom soup with two kinds of fresh ’shrooms and three kinds of dried (though the wood ear is really only for texture since they’re so mild) just as easily as he can broil some chicken breasts and serve them with green beans.

He might throw his signature lemon-pepper-garlic-parsley mix on everything, and the green beans might get some fresh shredded parm on top of them, but hey.

As such, Priestly’s galley kitchen is his undisputed domain, and the biggest factor that helped him choose his otherwise humble apartment. Pans are shelved neatly under the oven and pots nested in the cramped cupboards. Utensils (slotted spoons, one large ladle, two spatulas, a pasta spoon and a whisk or two) are kept clean and accessible on the short bar over the sink. Tall glass jars of flour, sugar, pasta and more flour in the shortest one are to the side, tucked under small shelves Priestly installed himself. Drying herbs hang from the brackets he’d chosen at Home Depot for the purpose. Boxes of pasta, croutons, and cans of condensed milk each have their few inches of space.

Four-color peppercorns and pink Himalayan sea salt crystals fill clear grinders to the left of the stove, near the olive oil bottles (one extra virgin, one garlic-infused, each with spouts) and knife block.

Priestly’s fridge is stocked with fresh food as much as the season allows. Fresh food is expensive even at the source, and Priestly’d hit the markets more than the stores to take advantage of California’s weather and spread without having to worry about pesticides on subpar, overpriced cucumbers with stickers on them.

Priestly isn’t above a good pre-mix, and some store-bought lemon-pepper seasoning in its own mini-grinder sits next to the taller ones—plastic and a little aged; Priestly has a pair of heavy grinders with ceramic cores perpetually on his Amazon wishlist. His olive oil is plenty good enough to cook with, though sometimes he gets lucky at a farmer’s market (or he splurges) and gets the really good stuff and stretches it out as long as he can.

It helps that his one-and-a-half bedroom apartment (his designation, not the landlord’s) with vaulted ceilings, fireplace, and huge kitchen that has no business being inside just over seven-hundred square feet is not his alone. Technically.

Priestly is on the lease. Priestly is the only person on the lease. Said lease explicitly prohibits subletting the unit in whole or in part.

Priestly has roommates, plural. They are often transient and sometimes stack up, and rent is fluid—part of a utility bill here or extra laundry soap there. More often than not this includes buddy-trips to the store or market to help with the food. And watering his plants, unless you’re Chuck Shurley.

Living at Priestly’s, one usually eats pretty well. That is about the only constant.

That and Priestly’s habit of walking around as little clothing as he desires because it’s his damn apartment and he does what he feels like in it. There are things you accept if you stay at Priestly’s, and seeing him in dishabille at least once is kind of a rite of passage.

Priestly adds the porcini to the pot, throws in the strained wine, and goes for the tomato sauce. He’ll vinegar the microwave later, so the kitchen won’t smell like hot ass. Stewed tomatoes (from a can) go into the pot with some chicken stock (this Priestly can proudly stamp as homemade) and it all gets stirred together and brought to a simmer.

Priestly wafts the steam at his face, inhales, and grins. He’s pretty good at this shit.

 

**PROLONGED EYE CONTACT**

_In which we explore social mores, and tread upon them_

“Oh god make it stop.”

Priestly's hair pokes up before the rest of him as he rises from a crouch in front one of the window herb boxes, concern crossing his face at the tone of Jo’s voice. “Hey,” he says. She’s leaning against the flip-top counter by the register, an arm low around her middle. The sky is a little washed-out and gray with the weather but her face doesn’t have much color in it anyway. Jo is one of the toughest sons of bitches he knows and he says that with love, but there are two things that can bring her down; mortal wounds and a certain something that rolls around every twenty-eight days or so.

Priestly approaches with caution, hands visible, scraping his steps a little once he gets off the anti-slip pad. “Dude,” he says when he’s closer. “Day One or Day Two?”

Jo squints up at him, not really even trying for a cocky nothing-can-kill-me smirk. “Day Zero.”

 _“Dude,”_ Priestly says, looping her in with a squeak of protest. She muffles something against his shirt so he tucks her into his side instead, petting at her hair, probably making it smell like thyme. His stomach does a little flip when she doesn’t protest the action. “You need to go home.”

“Can’t,” she grunts.

“Uh, you’re dying. You’re going home.”

“Rode the bus.”

Priestly rolls his eyes at the heavens and takes a breath. _“Ruby!”_

_“What.”_

_“Jo needs a ride!”_

“Can you stop hollering,” Jo mumbles; Priestly kisses her head.

“Sorry, Jonana. Your ass is going home, kay?” Jo makes a grumbly-whimper sound, and kind of burrows into him. Priestly withholds a remark about brink-of-death affection knowing that it won't be appreciated. He’s just glad he doesn't have to threaten to call her momma; Ellen Harvelle's relationship with her daughter is a complicated one.

"Got your back, kid," he says, which is replied to with pained snark that lightens his spirits a little. He duly acknowledges this with a gentle squeeze Jo pretends not to lean into. He kind of wishes Jo’d see a doctor, because this shit can’t be normal.

Priestly will stay later to cover Jo's shift and see if he can coerce Ruby into staying a little longer too when she gets back. It’s cold and slow and he doesn't mind a long day in the off-season.

He doesn’t really _like_ Ruby but she’s been working at the shop longer than he has (apparently when it had been Rufus’ place before Bobby got it) and if presented with, say, waterboarding, Priestly might say she’s okay. Bobby trusts her because Rufus trusts her, and she and Jo have a weird dynamic Priestly can’t begin to get. They work together, and sometimes they seem to understand shit Priestly doesn’t, like girl things. Jo’s the one who invited Ruby to a movie night, and Ruby doesn’t show to all of them but Priestly knows she’s grabbing her bag right now to take Jo in her own car, so.

“You have anything you need here?” Priestly asks. Jo shrugs, her bag already on her shoulder. “‘Kay,” Priestly says. "One sec, I’mma go find Ruby.” He sets Jo down at one of the booths where she curls in on herself and puts her forehead on the table. Priestly sighs and heads for the back, running into Ruby as she pops from the office with her bag.

“Hey,” he says, and Ruby just gives a you’re-in-the-way grunt. Priestly breathes through his nose and prays for patience. “Can you, like, suggest to Jo that she see her lady doc or whatever?”

Ruby actually seems to consider that, though her eyes narrow suspiciously. “And you can’t tell your BFF because…?”

Priestly lets the sigh out. “Because she’s family, not my BFF, and because I don’t—deal with girl stuff.”

Ruby’s smirking before he’s finished and he really doesn’t care that he steps on that landmine. She can be offended or use it for ammo later, whatever. “Look, just take her home and drive safe, okay?”

Ruby’s eyes soften just a tiny bit and she nods. “Move, big guy,” she says, and Priestly follows her a little anxiously. “Your family here wants me to look out for you on the girl front,” she says loudly as she goes to stand by Jo’s booth.

Priestly groans through his hands, but Jo doesn’t give him a response. He peeks cautiously through his fingers, and Jo is waiting for him and gives him a rueful finger when he makes eye contact. He drops his hands and exhales in relief. Priestly brings his aged flip phone out of his pocket and wiggles it.

“I’ll be fine, _dad,”_ Jo mutters, and Priestly just makes a face at her and watches till she and Ruby are out the door.

“Chicks,” he mutters, and goes to wash his hands and man the front all by his little lonesome.

\- -

Priestly hears the bells jingle, and he gives the warmed griddle one last scrape and wipes his hands on his towel. A rush of chilly air follows the first customer of the day inside and he turns into it with a shiver, glad he kept his overshirt on.

Just a guy by himself, wearing what looks like a fake-handmade blue sweater with a really unfortunate pattern. The half-zip is half-zipped and Priestly can’t _not._

“Dude,” he says, “what are you wearing.”

The guy blinks, looks down at himself, and pats absently at his stomach with one hand. “A sweater,” he says, factually, in this kind of raspy-deep voice, looking back up at Priestly. Something in his face is off, and Priestly’s glad Bobby isn’t here to hear him. “Can I get you something?” he tries.

“I would like a cheeseburger,” the guy says, weirdly cautious now, trying to look over Priestly’s shoulders at the menu boards, squinting. There is a silence, wherein the guy blinks like once, looks to the side and then back at Priestly. He tacks on an awkward “please.” He sounds like he maybe has a cold, or maybe he smokes, but that doesn’t quite feel right.

Priestly stares at the guy, and the guy stares back.

Priestly purses his lips before he speaks. “This is a sandwich joint, dude,” he says, and something in the guy’s face makes Priestly soften his tone. He looks a little...worn, like he’s had a bad day, and it’s barely even late morning. “Look, if you’re hungry and you’re craving cheeseburgers, there’s nothing around here open yet that’s any good.” He’s thinking of telling him about the Roadhouse, but Ellen doesn't open till afternoon and the guy’s face falls more as Priestly speaks. Maybe it’s the stupid sweater or the way his hands sort of shift in the sleeves, but Priestly feels himself go a little squishy. Dude looks...sad. Not like crying-sad, but like he has no energy, like he’s just— _beat-up_ sad.

“I can make you something better,” Priestly says, wondering why he’s so eager to impress some random guy on a Tuesday.

Maybe it’s the sweater or something in his face when he looks back up at him—eyes bluer than the sweater—and he says, “I’m sorry, I—” and stops, like he doesn't know what to be sorry for first.

Priestly finds his chest going weirdly tight. He beckons gently towards the counter and leans against it on his elbows. “You like beef, right? Cheese?”

The guy nods tentatively, coming a couple steps closer.

“Okay,” Priestly says, snapping his fingers. The guy startles a little. “Philly sound good?” He looks at the guy from under his brows a little, feeling a tiny smirk take over his lips. “Promise I’ll make it tasty.”

The guy studies his face, clocking his metal and probably his eyeliner, and it’s already awkward so Priestly waits him out. “Do you take cards?” he finally says, his scratchy voice going a little higher and tightening Priestly’s throat along with his chest.

“Dude,” Priestly says, tongue between his teeth. “I got this. Sit,” he says, pointing to a booth.

Priestly turns and grabs a fresh set of gloves without seeing if the guy sits. He flicks the heat on higher before going to the fridge for the steak. He _feels_ the guy just standing there, presumably still staring, and he goes about getting the fresh beef strips and cheese and fixin’s anyway.

“Anything you don’t like?” he calls over his shoulder.

“No,” the guy says absently, so yeah, definitely staring. At Priestly or around the shop, maybe. Priestly finds he doesn’t mind, pushing meat and onions around the hot griddle, the scent of that and herbs filling up the cook area. So the guy’s weird; Beach City Grill takes all kinds and Priestly’s the last to judge.

The sweater is hideous, but, well. Win some, etcetera.

\- -

The sandwich had been served hot, melted cheese and peppers and pickles and onions and garlic in warm, just-crispy-but-soft-on-the-inside buttered bread. It had fresh ground pepper and smelled heavenly, and Castiel’s stomach had growled loudly while the cook had assembled it, embarrassing him, but the man had just winked over the basket, the metal jewelry in his face catching the outside light as he handed it over.

Castiel hadn't expected to feel hungry today, but he'd started to wander the chilly plaza and saw the sign and hadn't really processed anything beyond _food,_ and he wants to treat himself just because. He'd gone in randomly imagining a cheeseburger for breakfast and had ended up with a cheesesteak instead.

The juicy beef had melted in Castiel’s mouth, warmed his stomach, warmed him through after the cool bus ride and aimless walk outside. It was savory and the flavors balanced; Castiel is tempted to lick his fingers and that isn't generally something he is tempted to do. With his hunger sated, Castiel has a moment of disorientation, a sense of looming reality just behind him ready to settle upon his shoulders, but the satisfaction at his core—however temporary—lets him enjoy the booth and the moment for just a little longer.

Castiel squints at the basket, lined with paper. It’s empty save for some crumbs in a droplet of glistening oil. He licks his lips and reaches for his napkin, noting that he’s actually too full to miss wanting fries.

A body slides into the booth across from him with a squeak and a thump. It belongs to the man who’d made Castiel’s sandwich and who is, as far as Castiel can tell, the only employee in the restaurant. Shop. Joint? The man had called it a joint. He’s wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and the t-shirt under it is just as baffling as the first time Castiel read it: _Cat, The Other White Meat._ Castiel stares.

The man clears his throat, and Castiel raises his eyes to meet his, holding them. He’s taken off the food-service gloves and puts a new water in front of Castiel’s empty basket. Castiel reaches for it and takes a sip, giving a brief nod in gratitude. The cook’s wildly spiked hair is somewhat silhouetted as Castiel’s seat faces the windows, so he continues to squint.

“Led Zeppelin,” the cook says, apropos of nothing, putting his hands on the table surface. He’s wearing several rings.

Castiel tilts his head. “I’m sorry?”

The cook’s eyebrows go up, and Castiel finds his eyes again catching on the glint of the ring in his nose, the stud at his chin. His face is very serious.

“Um,” Castiel says. “I don’t understand.”

The cook’s expression looks oddly pained. “The band?” he tries, ducking his head a little. A dark tattoo curls along the side of his neck.

“Yes?” he says, following the curls of ink.

Finally the cook sighs. “What’s your name?”

“Castiel,” he says without thinking. He looks back at the cook's face. He blinks, thinks a moment, and then lets out a soft ‘hm.’

“Priestly,” he says. “Patron saint of Phillies.”

Castiel surprises himself by snorting, and that seems to...loosen this Priestly up, a little.

“You like food,” Priestly says, raising an eyebrow at the basket, and Castiel allows himself a little smile.

“I do believe we’ve established that,” he says, perhaps understanding a little better what was happening; if not, it’s a fairly unburdened interaction. This Priestly doesn't know who he is or where he came from, and here he is making him good food and asking strange questions. “And thank you,” Castiel says, a little quieter. “That was very good.”

Priestly might have smirked, but it’s a little hard to tell. Castiel is about to ask if he pays at the register when Priestly says “So. Cas. AC/DC.”

Castiel squints at the diminutive, then feels himself brighten. “I have a fondness for many of their songs,” he says, aware that this is awkward, equally aware that the person across from him is far from ‘normal.’

“Right on,” Priestly says, nodding, his face opening up a little more. It’s hard to tell with the silhouetting, and abruptly Priestly seems to notice Castiel’s squinting. Priestly shifts in the booth so his back is to the wall, a leg kicked out over the cushion. Castiel studies his face now that he can see it better; goatee, interesting sideburns, and eyes set off by the dark liner surrounding them. “Okay, so you’re not beyond hope. Let’s try this. Music, generally speaking.”

The bell tinkles over the door, and Castiel looks past Priestly to a dark-haired woman entering the shop. Joint. She looks at Priestly a little oddly when she sees him in the booth with Castiel, and Castiel has an impulse to give a little wave. Thankfully she’s occupied with the moveable portion of the counter, and Castiel tucks his hand back below to the safety of his lap. Priestly’s expression when Castiel looks back up is amused.

“I enjoy many genres of music,” Castiel says, and Priestly seems to expect more of an answer than that. He’s not getting one.

Priestly narrows his eyes (they’re still washed out by the gray daylight, maybe gray-blue?), and Castiel is content to wait. It feels like he’s getting his feet under him for the first time this morning, which doesn’t make any sense, but there it is. The woman disappears to the back of the shop—joint, and Castiel returns his attention to Priestly.

“All right,” Priestly says, his tone odd, like he’s readying himself, and Castiel unconsciously straightens his shoulders. There’s something arresting about the man with the wild hair in front of him. “TV time.”

\- -

Ruby knows Priestly hasn’t stocked the till because that’s how he is, so she drops her bag and snags some ones from the safe on her way back up front. For all his talk she bets Priestly has already been googling how to wrangle Jo an appointment or remove her uterus entirely, fear of 'girl stuff' notwithstanding.

It looks like there’s only the one customer, but that doesn’t explain why Priestly isn’t behind the counter researching and worrying.

The customer’s in a really sad sweater sitting across from Priestly. More likely Priestly’d planted his ass across from him after the poor guy’d finished his sandwich, a Philly going by the scent in the air and the detritus to the side of the griddle. Her stomach grumbles a little.

She hears Priestly snort, apparently at the tail-end of an answer from Sweater guy. “Okay. Three's Company."

“No,” Sweater guy says shortly. Ruby gives the booth the side-eye and keeps listening; is Priestly _testing_ him?

"Really?"

"Never really watched it. I can't say either way."

"Fair enough. Friends."

Sweater guy makes a face, like the theme song is already stumbling through his mind the way it is Ruby’s.

"My man," Priestly says, reaching out for a fistbump. There’s a somewhat awkward pause until Sweater haltingly raises his fist, and Priestly gingerly reaches further across the table to knock knuckles. It’s painfully like a dog and a puppy and something new, all big eyes and hesitant paws.

Ruby sighs quietly and rolls her eyes to herself, putting the new ones into the drawer.

Priestly settles back into the booth. “Princess Bride.”

“Hm?”

Priestly pauses. “Inconceivable?”

Sweater guy tilts his head. It’s kind of adorable.

“Dude,” Priestly says, and even Ruby has to wince. Before Priestly can say anything she closes the register loudly, drawing their attention. “Sorry,” she says with a complete lack of conviction, and Priestly glares a little. She’s not intimidated by his bright-ass red hair in the least.

Sweater guy seems to blink back to himself, and he loses something in his posture, shrinks a little. He looks at his basket, at Priestly, and then to Ruby. “I should get going,” he says, setting his hands against the table like he’s going to push out of the booth and then awkwardly pulling his empty basket close. He looks at a loss with what to do with the two water cups, one half-full of ice.

Priestly slides smoothly out of the booth and takes both waters. “I got this,” he says, tone gentle, and Ruby stops pretending not to watch.

Sweater guy stands a lot less gracefully as he hurries to pick up his basket, crumpling his napkin. "Do I bring these to you?" he says, finally addressing Ruby.

"Sure," she says, holding the flip-top open for Priestly to shoulder by. She accepts the handoff and pushes the liner and napkin into the trash, setting the basket aside by the clean ones. She settles in behind the register, hearing Priestly dump the ice and put the cups in the sink as Sweater comes up to her, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

"Hey, hey," Priestly says, smoothly reaching forward and light-fingering the wallet, putting it down under his hand on the now-lowered panel next to the register. "I got this," he says with emphasis, and the guy looks at his wallet, then back up at Priestly.

"I can pay," he says, a little indignant, but Priestly still hasn't moved, his upper body now thoroughly invading Ruby's space. She scowls him, not caring that he isn't looking at her.

"I believe you," Priestly says. "Cas," he continues, Ruby flicking her eyes to Sweater guy, "let me get this." They’re, like, _staring,_ and it’s weird. Ruby scoots a little away from the register and folds her arms.

"Dude, it just seems like today's not your day. Lemme do something for you." Priestly holds Sweater's gaze, and Ruby’s seriously considering flicking Priestly's nearest earring when Sweater breaks their little staring contest, visibly gathering himself.

"I came here to...look around," he says. His voice is resigned. "I'm going to be staying at my brother's apartment for the foreseeable future. I—lived outside of Palo Alto and all my stuff is...there."

"What happened?" Ruby says before Priestly can speak.

Sweater looks at her, and she notes his eyes are very, very blue. "I'm an accountant," he says firmly, like he’s trying to convince someone. He looks down at his shoes before he speaks again. "I did tax accounting for a firm in San Jose before they—'let me go' this morning." He even does the little finger-quotes in the air, his voice a little louder, a little rougher, like it got away from him. He abruptly looks caught, eyes wide as he spills details he maybe didn’t intend to. He slowly lowers his hands.

"Where's your brother live?" Ruby asks, and Priestly turns to give her a look. She raises her eyebrows at him.

"Mountain View," Sweater says, almost in the tone of a question.

"You just wandered here from forty minutes away?" Priestly says, but Sweater breaks in.

"He has an apartment in Santa Cruz." Sweater guy’s going a little sullen, and he looks pointedly at his wallet under Priestly's lax fingers.

Priestly reaches around to the front of the register where the little magnet cards and pens are. "Here," he says. He digs into the card with his pen to make the numbers show up on the glossy surface. He stuffs it into a pocket of the wallet and holds it out Sweater, wiggling it when he doesn't take it right away.

Sweater narrows his eyes and accepts his wallet, examining it with a tilt of his head.

"It's not some fancy big-city firm," Priestly says, "but we could use a numbers guy." Ruby stares; the shop number is already on the card. Priestly makes an abrupt gesture with his hand hidden behind the counter, presumably to shut her up.

Sweater looks back up at them both.

"I don't like Dirty Deeds," Sweater says, looking frankly at Priestly, and Ruby looks at him in a new light.

Priestly turns to regard Sweater full-on for several seconds. Ruby swallows a sigh.

"I'll allow it," Priestly finally says, his tone clearly stating that it’s a near thing.

Sweater guy stares some more, and finally he gives an awkward sort of nod while holding up the wallet with the corner of the magnet sticking out. "Thank—you?" he says, looking around the shop one more time before wandering outside.

Ruby goes ahead and rolls her eyes. "Bobby's gonna kill you," she says mildly, turning to watch Sweater walk off; he still looks lost, but the morning is less gray with some sun coming out so maybe it’s a sign or something.

"We could use him," Priestly says, in a tone that clearly indicates 'conversation over.'

"Uh huh," Ruby says. "Bobby's still gonna kill you."

Priestly grunts at her and starts cleaning the griddle.

 

**FAMILY**

_In which we discuss numbers; the care, feeding and vagaries thereof_

“Dude,” Priestly says.

Jo’s counting the register, used to these 'discussions' between her stubborn-ass surrogate father (one Bobby Singer) and her stubborn-ass surrogate big brother. Some days she figures Priestly’s lucky she'd stooped to adopting him.

“Exactly what do you suggest I do about this, boy?” Bobby’s exasperated, but more so he looks tired. Priestly clearly tries to hold his frustration, and Jo kind of wants to give him kudos for it. Bobby is one of the most self-aware guys she knows, and they both love him for it, but she knows Priestly hates that Bobby works so many hours between managing the shop and old Singer Salvage and Restoration in SoDak, the latter from afar. Priestly has always put it down (loudly) to the old man not wanting to work things out with Rufus Turner, antagonist in crime and business partner in name, all based off long-soured friendship that neither refuse to let go of no matter how much it hurts.

Maybe there’s a lesson there, she thinks, but there’s probably just as much stubborn crammed between Bobby and Priestly as the old man and Rufus.

Bobby and Rufus might be a pair of old farts with too much goddamn stubbornness to see sense, but Priestly doesn't have a leg to stand on as far as Jo’s concerned. She knows Bobby feels the same. Jo gets Priestly's frustration but she also knows why Bobby’s here in Santa Cruz instead of Sioux Falls and it isn't pride.

Family’s funny that way.

\- -

Priestly forces himself to stand still, running a hand down his face and breathing out slowly. Bobby doesn't need more stress from him, but—maybe he can mention Cas. The off-season isn't the best timing, but summer isn't far away and an actual numbers guy...hell, maybe Cas could offer remote assistance for Bobby's yard if the old man’s amicable. Cas probably won't burn full-time just tallying up sales and overhead for the shop, and even that'd free Bobby up enough that he can really focus on the restos and repairs back home...

"I asked you a question. You even listenin' to me?"

"Sorry, Bobby," Priestly says. "I just—you work hard. If you'd just _talk_ to—"

"Hard work is what keeps this place afloat and you damn well know that," Bobby says. "We both know you put just as many hours in and I dare say you're more in need of a social life than I am." Bobby pauses, waiting for Priestly's usual rebuttal, and when it doesn't come he says, "Son, I appreciate what you're saying but reality is—"

"The reality is that you won't let go of your pride long enough to let Rufus run things here so you can go back to Sioux Falls," Priestly says, the words biting, scalding his throat with regret the moment they leave his lips.

Bobby's eyes take a little longer to narrow down, and Priestly swallows, his gaze pleading and unbroken.

"Bobby," he starts, and this is usually where things get a little rocky for a while, "I'm sorry. I just think that Rufus can run a fucking sandwich shop, okay? I know you'd never trust him with the yard, and it's not like I want you to leave, but—"

"Boy, damn it," Bobby says suddenly, a hand on Priestly's shoulder that makes him blink, "if you think pride is why I'm here and not states away then you need to open your damn eyes and maybe think about _talking_ to people your own damn self."

Bobby's face, his eyes say too much, and as much as he’s trying Priestly feels his throat go acid, his shoulders come up. He shrugs Bobby off, and he can't stop the words even if he wanted to. "I can take care of myself. I don't need to _talk_ to anybody and I don't need a mother hen, god damn it."

Bobby inhales and steps back from him. There’s a long moment when things aren’t said, things about _friends_ and _family_ and Priestly damn well knows pride is his problem but it’s only _part_ of the problem and hell if he’s going to back down. Bobby huffs and heads for the door, Priestly angrily turning away before he can see pity on the old man's face.

It might not be fair to assume that's what'd be there, but he doesn’t want to see it anyway.

Jo, for once, doesn’t say anything. Priestly realizes after his fumes die down that he forgot to mention Cas. "Shit," he says.

He’s wiping away shredded lettuce in the aftermath of Pam's usual spicy Italian (ten inches, extra meat) when the bell dings again. He doesn't even look up but jerks his head at Jo that he’s headed to the back. She bellies up to the counter with her customer smile on, and Priestly leaves her to it.

\- -

“What’s in this one?”

Jo smirks a little to herself; this guy’s kind of a trip. They have a pretty eclectic selection of regulars, and Southern Cal has its share of standout characters even in the off-season. Pam hadn't been able to cheer Priestly up even with her flirting, so Jo’s kind of sorry Priestly went to go have a cry because he might've gotten a kick out of trenchcoat guy. He's asked about two other hot sandwiches already, going down the list, and she doesn't need to look at the menu board to know which one to explain next.

“Grilled chicken breast, marinated artichoke hearts, tomatoes, provolone, and of course our homemade pesto." She’s grinning as she lists off the ingredients; the way he listens so _seriously_ is kind of great. "Tell me if you have any nut allergies; we use sunflower seeds. Served on whatever you like, but I highly recommend the Italian focaccia; it’s soft inside and not too crunchy.”

The guy's head tilts as Jo speaks. His little expressions are endearing. She decides she likes him. "What's your name?" Maybe he'll become a regular; he has an oddness to him that fits. It’s cool enough that he’s wearing this weird tan coat over what looks like—well, like laundry day.

The guy's attention comes back on her, and the focus is a little unnerving amidst the otherwise harmless, lost-puppy vibe. "Castiel," he says absently, his gaze going back to the menu boards. She wonders if he needs glasses.

“I’d like the—Priestly’s Pesto, please,” he says after a moment of what appears to be careful deliberation.

Jo smiles. "Good choice, comin' right up." Castiel stands there a while. "Take a seat anywhere you like, Castiel—or do you want this wrapped up to go?"

"I'll wait here," Castiel says, sliding onto one of the stools at the bar.

"Priestly!" Jo yells. She starts pulling the tomatoes and artichokes from the cooler.

"What!"

"Order up! Get your ass out here!"

'Castiel' appears to be openly watching her shout, and she winks at him on impulse.

He squints.

Priestly comes up to the front grumbling. "Watch your mouth in front of the peeps, Joanna Beth—hey, Cas!"

Jo feels her brows shoot up and forgets to be pissed at the name thing; Priestly's face goes growly to sunshine in under a second when he sees their customer.

"'Cas?'" Jo says, and Priestly thwaps her with a towel. "Ow! Jerk," he says, shoving by him to get the focaccia.

Priestly leans up against the counter all grins. "What brings you back, man?" he says, eyes all lit up, and seriously, Jo’s going to start looking for rainbows because they’re about to come shooting out of Priestly's ass.

"The food," Castiel says, deadpan, and Jo can't tell if he’s being serious but Priestly throws his head back and laughs.

Jo stares at him and grabs the foccacia herself. It isn’t that funny.

"What're you having?" Priestly asks him, instead of, say, turning around to look at what Jo’s preparing because she’s a kickass sous chef and Priestly can stand to appreciate her work.

Or he can keep talking to the staring guy and stare at him back. Jo yanks Priestly's own towel from his apron and smacks him on the butt with it. "You gonna actually help cook this thing? S’not my name on the sandwich," she says. Priestly takes in the ingredients she'd retrieved and he tosses a grin over his shoulder, finally turning to the griddle.

"Pesto, huh? Good choice." He accepts new gloves from Jo and murmurs a thanks, thawing her out a little.

"What?" he says, noting her look.

"Nothing," she says, looking back expectantly.

"You're weird," Priestly says, suiting up his hands.

"Your face is weird," Jo shoots back, going for the chicken breast.

\- -

Castiel makes his brother's bed, pulling the sheets up (a truly garish orange that he inexplicably likes) and covering them with the gray comforter, old and covered in pills but warm. He finds an acceptable outfit—turtleneck sweater, plain dark slacks, his coat—and puts himself together, combing his hair in front of the bathroom mirror. He needs a haircut.

He needs to get some new shoes, as well. He has some jeans he hasn't worn in a long time (or much at all, really—they're still stiff), not since he'd mostly worn office attire and stuck to PJs on the weekends, and he doesn't know that his office shoes will go with them.

The condo has boxes here and there, but most of his clothes are hung or folded in the cubes Gabriel calls a dresser in the walk-in (one of the pros in an otherwise unremarkable if tidy place, a modestly-sized, aged unit in a condominium that showed its age in the fixtures and floorplan).

The kitchen is still mostly packed, as Castiel has one set of pots and pans he really loves, but his tableware isn't anything special and he hasn't stocked the fridge beyond milk, cereal and some sandwich items.

He’s recently been having sandwiches made for him.

Beach City Grill isn't too far from Gabriel's condo, and he's yet to try Harvelle’s Roadhouse at Priestly's recommendation (despite what the man calls 'orgasmic burgers' purportedly available there), but he thinks he might treat himself when he secures employment. Helping Gabriel out is not a hardship in exchange for staying at the condo, but it doesn't pay much beyond that. Gabriel insists on paying the utilities ("They're on autopay anyway, bro, I don't care," "That's because you weren't paying anything when it was empty, Gabriel") though Castiel doesn't think there's been a bill since he began using water and electricity.

In any case, Castiel has a place to stay, but he needs food and for that he needs money. Especially if he’s going to keep self-defeating and spending money on other people making that food. He needs shoes and he needs a few other things, like a way to pay his cell phone bill, and he'd like to have internet service (something Gabriel had disconnected). It’s likely his brother doesn't even recall and will happily reconnect and pay for the service, but Castiel doesn't want to ask him for that just yet.

He doesn't want to freeload off of Gabriel forever, and while Castiel doesn't think he'll be permanently moving to Santa Cruz he needs a job and a plan.

He’s a little stalled on that front, to be fair, but lately he's been looking forward to meandering down to a certain sandwich place and enjoying the amazing food there.

He might like the company, too.

It’s an easy bus ride (Castiel raids Gabriel's giant jar of change for his fare, with permission) and a quiet, cool morning stroll to end up at the sandwich joint, or shop, or whatever it’s supposed to be. It smells good most mornings, even when he comes in early and Priestly hasn't started the griddle yet, the fresh herbs growing in the window lush and fragrant. Sometimes Ruby’s manning it instead, and "her" Reuben is well-made, except that Castiel discovered he doesn't like Reubens.

Mostly the food is more than enough to keep Castiel returning. He sometimes wonders why it seems so empty, and that leads him to wonder why Priestly offered him a job if they’re so thin. It doesn’t look like a successful business at first blush, but Castiel reminds himself this is a beach town and it’s perhaps due to the off-season. He’s accustomed to a corporate position that was year-round monotony.

That’s something else: Castiel’s without routine, aimless, at least for now, but he isn’t...he’s not unhappy. He won’t call himself content, but there’s something utterly freeing about being out from under Zachariah Adler's thumb. The firm hadn't been that poor of an employer, by any means; the retirement contributions and hours had been equally steady, if unremarkable. Castiel had done just fine in his day-to-day, but he is, as Gabriel would put it, a cardboard cutout doing nothing aside from existing.

His old empty apartment in Palo Alto was nice but not too nice, and he’d had—social interactions with coworkers, colleagues; he’d even taken himself to movies, spent time in libraries and museums. Walked the city parks on weekends. Maybe he’ll find new destinations here, things to do and people to interact with.

His brothers all tend to have a unique view of the world, and from each of their sometimes wildly different perspectives, Castiel is going nowhere.

Castiel doesn't disagree.

He'd just been maintaining at the firm, and he’s not really doing anything to change it now. Losing his decent compensation from his former job is a blow, but the lack of employment at the firm itself is...not.

It’s liberating and foreign. Castiel has yet to make any new friends, and outside his stilted exchanges with the employees at the Grill he's been basically a hermit, sort of unpacking and otherwise continuing to exist. A 'welfare check' from another of his siblings via phone had kicked him into finishing his settling-in period, made him "go seek humans and talk to them, Cassie, maybe hit on a hot one," and realize that he’s faced with something frightening and exciting both: _possibility._

It’s the fourth Tuesday that Castiel makes the trip to the shop—joint, and he’s already wondering what the menu boards will hold and if a colorful chef will be there to cook for him.

 

**ANYBODY WANT A PEANUT**

_In which things do not mean what we think they mean_

Castiel is dangerously close to becoming a regular.

Jo sees him for the next three weeks on Tuesdays and a pair of Thursdays, and he explorers the menu each of his visits. He seems to prefer hot sandwiches especially, and he’s partial to the pesto. He made some noises once eating a Philly with the works on a random Wednesday that Priestly had 'surprised' him with when Pam had been picking up her Italian. She'd said something that turned poor Castiel's face red as a tomato and made Priestly laugh with his whole body. (Castiel had scowled adorably.)

Ruby’s of the opinion that Castiel is _adorable_ in a kind of hapless way. Jo has no problem agreeing with her on the main point, but she doesn't think Castiel’s hapless, per se. He has this kind of winsome thing going on, especially when he frowns at Priestly's shirts. The more he comes in, the more he _almost_ smiles.

Especially when Priestly gives him his sandwiches directly; he goes all shy.

Priestly keeps making his noises to Jo and Ruby about talking to Bobby and hiring 'Cas' on (Castiel hasn't called or spoken to Priestly about _wanting_ to work at the shop yet but that doesn’t seem to matter to Priestly), and Ruby takes an odd, tolerant sort of liking to Castiel, but Jo—she watches Priestly.

Priestly grew into his own skin over the years Jo has known him, and it wasn’t an easy journey. He hasn't always worn all his jewelry (Jo was there when he got his second ear piercing; she'd held his hand when he'd gotten his labret done) and his tattoos accumulated slowly. It took him time to not hide his ink, to get more holes poked in his head and to wear offensive shirts with pride. His hair changes like she hopes he changes underwear (Jo is in fact privy to intimate details about his underthings she wishes she wasn't; i.e that he does change them regularly and that they’re as likely to be pink, potentially satiny as they are cotton blend). Jo doesn’t judge an ounce, but as his sister there are things she can do without seeing.

Lately, though, Jo's been noticing small changes.

The celtic knot ring on his left hand looks shinier, like he cleaned it, and there’s a new band of thin hematite on another finger. The dark flexible thumb band that was wearing through to copper has either been replated or maybe replaced (she'd found the original on Amazon for like, five bucks when she bought it for him). The old and scuffed silver ring on his right hand is the only thing unchanged.

Priestly’s weird about his hair. He keeps his facial hair pretty tightly trimmed but gets lazy about the back of his neck and over his ears. He’ll fuzz out until Jo tells him when he starts looking like a scruffball. She usually leaves his clippers visible on the bathroom sink for the hint.

Priestly breezes in on a Friday with a sharp-looking haircut, the kind he gets from Ash: the sides are shorter and everything but the 'hawk’s darkened a bit. The back of his neck is tapered up nicely into the rest of his hair, except the vee of 'hawk and its little tail. His goatee and sideburns are sharply defined, neck still a little red from the clippers.

Monday his hair’s a vibrant green, and he’s wearing a really striking blue stud in his labret (Ruby says it’s purple, Jo says it’s blue. Priestly says it’s 'blurple' and then something loud about standing around and being in the way).

The last time Priestly'd worn anything but plain steel in his chin he'd been dating Lisa.

Priestly used to match his studs to his hair; red, purple, a favorite green one that was chipped. Lisa'd once bought him a hot pink acrylic stud on a dare, and his hair had been damn near the brightest thing on the beach that weekend (for which Priestly owed Jo and her Amazon skills). His bathroom had formerly displayed an array of colors, a row of anodized titanium balls on a little second-hand rack from Chuck's shop on top of the weird old medicine cabinet.

After Lisa, they'd disappeared for whatever reason Priestly had come up with in his colorful head, and the plain steel had taken their place indefinitely.

And now, on a Tuesday, Priestly strolls in with his cut hair and the blue-purple stud, Ash trailing behind him. Ash often accepts food for haircuts in the manner that Chuck gives Priestly new art for room and board. Jo’s already reaching for Ash's favorite bread when he comes up to the bar.

"Yeah?" Ash says to Jo, gesturing to Priestly's head. It’s alternating blue and red spikes today, all down to the back and Jo smirks. Priestly’s damned good at doing his own 'hawk, but sometimes an extra set of hands makes all the difference.

"Yeah," she says. Priestly winks and clicks his tongue as he finger-guns her, going for his apron.

Ash and Ruby get into a conversation about her split ends while he eats ("I'm telling you, a little coconut oil will get you the same shine without drying you out,") and Jo’s watering the big plants by the larger window when Castiel wanders in.

"Hello, Jo, Ruby," Castiel says, choosing a stool at the bar and settling in. He's taken to sitting up at the bar since his second visit—Jo's pretty sure it’s so he can watch Priestly cook.

 _“Damn_ dude's voice’s deep,” Ash says from the far side of the bar. Ruby snorts; Jo just rolls her eyes. Predictably, Castiel squints at Ash and openly examines his hairstyle until Ash explains his mullet as a form of greeting.

"Hey, Castiel," Jo says, smiling warmly. He gives her one of his little almost-smiles. "What can I get you today?"

Castiel seems much more relaxed and—sunnier since Jo'd met him. "I finished settling in to my brother's apartment," he says, and yeah, dude’s about _beaming._ Jo has to grin big; he has this goofy, gummy smile that crinkles his whole face like sunshine.

"That's awesome, Cas!" she says. "You still looking for work? Priestly won't shut up about getting you to come here."

Castiel's smile goes rueful. "My brother has me doing some remote accounting for him," he says. Castiel's eyes go shifty and his face gets a little ruddy. "I...uh. I was wanting to speak to Priestly about his offer, actually."

Jo grins more, can't help it. Castiel is _cute_ when he gets shy, and he’s definitely looking around the shop for their wandering chef.

"Hate to break it to you, champ, but Priestly doesn't call the shots around here," Jo says, and the way Castiel's face falls makes her talk fast. "I'll put in a good word for you with the boss. I think Priestly's gonna go to bat for you, if you want the job." She looks at Castiel seriously _,_ and the way he looks back up at her, all big blue eyes, has her feeling a little caught and protective all at once.

"Hey," she says, "also. Priestly's having a movie night tonight. What're you doing later?"

Castiel looks at her in that weird searching way of his, and Jo finds herself really hoping he comes. Priestly's back out to the front before either of them can say anything, and Jo eyes the spatula behind her.

Snatching it up to wield in her forward hand, she half-turns and widens her stance, thrusts a shoulder back.

"You seem like a decent fellow. I hate to kill you."

Priestly blinks, shooting half a look at Castiel before turning back to Jo. "You seem a decent fellow."

Jo waits.

"That's not the line," she says.

"No, it's not," Priestly says. "It's _you seem_ a decent fellow, not you seem _like_ a decent fellow."

"Oh," Jo says. "Right." She gives a theatrical throat-clearing. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you."

Priestly slowly reaches for nearby tongs, mirroring Jo's stance. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die."

Jo smirks. "Begin," she says, and they raise their weapons. Castiel shifts in his seat, and abruptly Jo and Priestly turn to hold him at 'swordspoint.'

"Yes?" Jo says, eyes not wavering from Castiel's.

"Yes," Priestly says definitively.

Castiel squints at both of them. "Is this the part where I yield?" he asks.

\- -

"Bobby, hey," Priestly says, loping around the counter, the dropping flip-top grazing his spikes as Jo barely catches it for him.

Bobby regards Priestly calmly as he enters the store, smoothly heading right through the gap in the counter as Priestly exits it. Priestly squeaks his shoe as he flails to turn around and Jo makes an exasperated noise, finally letting the counter drop behind them.

"You just missed Priestly's new hire," Jo says offhandedly, and Priestly throws a glare at her even as his stomach clenches at the sound of Bobby's steps slowing, turning to stare at his wayward cook. Priestly swallows and prepares to make his case.

“Priestly gave him the test,” Ruby says, and words dry up in Priestly's mouth.

Bobby looks at him. Priestly tries not to shrink. “You gave a customer the _test?”_

Ruby snorts. “On his first visit, no less.”

Bobby’s eyebrows go up and his voice turns thoughtful. “So he came back.”

Ruby’s grin is many things and subtle is not one of them. “Oh, he’s come back a few times.”

Jo leans against the counter. “Even has a favorite sandwich. Pesto,” Jo says, popping the ‘P’ with her lips.

Priestly’s momentarily baffled at Jo and Ruby doing whatever it is they’re doing, presumably because it involves messing with him, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Dude walked in here asking for a cheeseburger."

“Did he pass?” Bobby says.

“Bobby. _Cheeseburger.”_

Bobby just raises his brows. Priestly sighs.

“Sort of.”

Bobby inhales, his shoulders going up, and he very clearly holds in the sigh but his face is expressive as always, Priestly preemptively wincing. “Boy,” he says, “since when are you trying to hire someone for me and since when does someone _‘sort of’_ pass the test, especially the version you ‘administer?’ Did you even _ask_ about Elvis?”

Priestly’s mouth works a little before he finds his words. “Hey, he’s kinda—he’s weird, okay, he’d fit in and he didn’t diss Zep _and_ he hates Friends.” Priestly takes a fast breath, worried Bobby’ll talk over him. “I know it's off-season and you’re in charge but—"

"Could've fooled me," Bobby says mildly.

"—Cas did taxes in San Jose for some bigshot firm and he can do accounting,” Priestly finishes in a rush, his heart beating fast in his chest. He’d wonder at it, nerves over an inexplicable investment in getting Cas on board, but his gut tells him to. Priestly listens to his gut.

Bobby’s silent long enough that Priestly has to shift his weight from one leg to another, though he knows the old man is thinking things through.

"You realize we can't afford an accountant, nor do we need a full-blown professional one," Bobby says carefully, Priestly wilting as he speaks, "and that I can't give him full-time, even during the tourist season." Priestly brightens.

"Cas said he was interested," Priestly says. He moves a shoulder and lays it out. "I pretty much told him all that. I think maybe he wants something like this right now." He tries not to hold his breath.

“He’s cool, Bobby,” he says, willing his earnestness to radiate from his body and sink into Bobby’s brain.

Bobby thinks through another of his silences, and Priestly hears Jo chewing on a straw.

"I'll think about it," Bobby says, eyes narrow, and Priestly steps forward and grins, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Bobby." That earns him a disgruntled eye-roll and an "I said I'd _think_ about it" as Bobby goes back to count the safe and start in on the books.

"Don't forget to get the order ready by the end of the week," he calls.

The afternoon shades into early evening, Bobby cursing quietly in his office as Priestly buttons up the kitchen. Ruby and Jo putter around with the closing duties.

“So ‘Cas’ does numbers,” Ruby says dryly, leaning up against the counter. Priestly grunts, not even bothering to try and ignore her.

“‘Cas,’” Jo simply says. He sighs.

“What,” Priestly says.

“What what?” Ruby says. “You’re the one who was so hot to get him hired.”

Jo joins Ruby in not doing anything constructive. “Who gave big puppy eyes to Bobby trying to get him on? Come on, Priestly. Really?”

“Shouldn't you be closing?” Priestly says, shoving utensils in drawers and closing them loudly.

"What I wanna know is why hot tax accountant gives heart-eyes to you and you don't notice them—"

"Even though he does it every time he comes in," Jo breaks in.

"—those eyes are pretty dreamy," Ruby finishes, and Priestly finally allows himself to turn to Jo, mouthing _What?_

Jo and Ruby have freakily similar smirks on their faces. "Guys. What are you even—Cas can do numbers, Bobby said it was cool—"

"Bobby said he'd think about it," Jo reminds him.

"Bobby _said it was cool,_ Cas needs a job, and he’s cool too. You know how we roll. What's the friggin' question? What are you even saying?"

"'Cas' stares at you a lot."

"Ruby, you're freaking weird and I don't judge you, so why would I care that Cas stares a lot?"

"He stares at you," Jo adds helpfully.

"He loves your Phillies," Ruby says.

“And the pesto,” Jo says.

"I make good Phillies, _you_ like my pesto, and he stares at everybody."

"He stares at _you,_ Priestly, especially when, you know, you stare back."

Priestly blinks and opens his mouth a couple times. "Cas is just—he's weird too, okay? I don't _stare_ at him—" Ruby gets a decidedly bright look in her eyes and Priestly abruptly turns around to wipe at the griddle with his rag. "He probably just needs friends. Jo roped him into movie night so we can see if he's really that weird. If he is he'll fit right in," Priestly says pointedly, scrubbing harder.

"Sure," Jo says. "We'll see if he fits in.” She puts weird emphasis on the last.

Priestly groans aloud. "Joanna-bonana, what are you even saying."

“Why do you keep looking at his mouth?” Ruby says.

“I do not,” Priestly says shortly, blinking at her. Cas is weird, there’s no doubt about that. His eyes are stupid blue, and he likes Phillies. Priestly scrubs the griddle surface furiously. Nothing wrong with any of that.

Cas talks to Priestly, sure, but he talks to Jo and Ruby too. Cas watches Priestly cook and watches him when he talks. That isn’t _staring,_ that’s paying attention. Cas sometimes watches Priestly’s chin stud when he talks, and sometimes Priestly thinks Cas looks at his mouth, but again: Cas is weird.

People do that when you talk; they watch your face. So when Cas talks, Priestly watches—otherwise he’d miss the rare smiles and that’s—it’d be bad, or something. Guy smiles that infrequently, somebody oughta appreciate it when they happen.

Cas smiles at Priestly. He doesn’t smile much at all, not even at Ruby or Jo, and when he does it’s because Priestly says something stupid or makes him food, and Cas does that little tilty-thing with his head, eyes going all squinty and mouth going all thin, his lips—chapped, they always look chapped—sometimes there’s this smirk, this teeny little quirk at the corner of—

Priestly's scrubbing slows, finally stops. He feels the fingers of his other hand twitch on his apron and he thinks about watching Cas talking, Cas almost-smiling. Cas’ mouth.

He swallows, not looking at Jo or Ruby, who haven’t moved. “Do—do I…?”

Their silence, one part mockery to one part sympathy, is enough.

Priestly doesn’t know what to do with this information, so he growls at them to finish closing up so they can go get their Dread Pirate on.

 

**PERSONAL SPACE**

_In which Priestly questions his sexuality_

“We’re watching Princess Bride,” Priestly announces, tone imperious as he addresses his subjects arrayed across couch, loveseat and floor.

Chuck and Ash look up from where they’re hunched over Ash's monstrosity of a laptop in front of the sofa. Jo sprawls across the loveseat like it’s all hers, idly poking Ash's leg with her toe. Ruby’s at the far end of the couch by the door, leaving the other loveseat cushion for Priestly when he gets settled.

"Jo," Priestly says, "Popcorn."

Jo hops up and salutes him. "Sir, right away, sir." Chuck snorts as she goes for the kitchen.

"I don't want that thing glaring in my face when the movie starts," Ruby grumbles, and Ash gestures for her to look at whatever they’re doing. Priestly follows Jo into the kitchen, hearing Chuck ask Ruby's opinion on turquoise or jade for new plugs in his ears.

"So..." Priestly says, grabbing the salt and a couple other dry seasonings for the popcorn. Jo borrows her mom's old-fashioned oil popper for movie nights, and the big thing takes up one whole section of tiny counter next to the sink.

"Blue or red?" Jo says, holding up plastic jars of kernels, and Priestly shrugs and gestures for both. "So what?"

"Cas coming?" Priestly says, as un-loaded as possible and not knowing why.

"He said he was," Jo says. "Gave him your address and offered a ride, but he said he'd manage."

"Huh," Priestly says, wondering why Cas didn’t take her up on it. It’s already dark and the bus stops could be confusing for a new guy, but Cas seems pretty smart. Well, book-smart, but he’s real enough, so Priestly decides to have faith in him.

The popcorn pops and Ash closes his laptop, Chuck joining Ruby on the couch and Ash stretching out along the floor with a cushion when someone knocks on the security door, metal banging loud-tentative like they’re trying to be polite and heard at the same time.

"Got it," Priestly says, tossing the remote to Ash. He cracks a 7-Up with one hand and opens the door, and sure enough Cas stands outside the wrought-iron, peering through the holey screen that needs repainting.

"Hey, Cas!" Priestly says warmly, unlocking and opening. "Welcome to mi casa, pal."

He backs up so Cas can come in, still dressed in the same sharp shirt and coat from earlier. He's changed into jeans that look kind of new, though he had like, business shoes on. He’s looking at the socked feet of everyone else, and Priestly realizes he’s staring at Cas' face.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat, sucking down some soda and then wincing through the burn. "Shoes over here, coat on the back of the door." Cas toes off his shoes into line with several other pairs and Priestly gently pushes at his shoulder, showing him the hook for his coat.

"Couch, loveseat, floor," he says. "Bathroom's back here, fridge has sodas or beer, and there's the water jug—I’ll grab you a glass. Make yourself at home, man."

Cas looks at him, and Priestly knows Jo and Ruby and probably Chuck and Ash are watching, and maybe Cas does stare a lot.

"Thank you," Cas eventually says, and Priestly feels a weird little smile on his face. Cas asks for the bathroom and Priestly leads him to it, and when he turns to the living room it’s just Jo giving him a look.

"Grab bowls," he says, and he seasons the popcorn with her in the kitchen. Cas emerges from the bathroom and settles into the empty loveseat on the side at right-angles to the couch, nodding and exchanging a quiet greeting to the living room crew.

Jo takes two bowls, giving one to Ruby and keeping the other for herself as she settles in next to Cas and throws an arm around his shoulders. "Welcome to movie night, Cas," she says, giving him a squeeze before she lets him go, presenting the popcorn.

Priestly looks over at Cas and Jo, feeling a smile spread over his face. Jo winks at him when Cas isn’t looking; when Cas does look at Priestly, his eyes dart away before coming back, shy.

Priestly gives him a friendly grin and raises his soda, taking a spot by Chuck and corner-on to Cas. Chuck hits 'Play' and Priestly looks over at Cas, an arm's length away, and winks.

\- -

"This movie is amazing," Cas says through a mouthful of popcorn, leaning forward. The screen casts a blue glow over his face and makes his eyes unearthly.

Priestly grins at him from the sofa. "Knew I liked you."

\- -

"Someone please take a picture of this and plaster it on Facebook," Priestly says, ruffling Chuck's hair. Chuck is currently passed out against his knee, and at Priestly's touch he makes a little happy noise and cuddles closer.

"Way ahead of you," Ruby says, taking no less than three pictures on her phone (it’s some fancy ‘razor’ thing or something, slick and thin). They’re at a bathroom break, and if Priestly has to guess Chuck’s been putting in long hours—either at his studio, his computer, the bottle or a combination of the three. He’d traded the middle cushion for the floor with Ash before he’d fallen asleep.

Jo wanders into the kitchen when she gets back, and Priestly hears his fridge open. "Grab me a soda?" he calls. He gingerly straightens, trying to catch Chuck's head and lean him on the couch. He extracts himself but Chuck wakes up anyway with a groggy mumble. Priestly looks at Ruby, who shrugs and gestures magnanimously across Ash at what was Priestly's former spot.

With a little sleepy assistance from the guy himself, Priestly gets Chuck arranged where he'd been, gently kicking his feet closer to the couch so Chuck won't inadvertently trip anyone.

Cas had been in the hall waiting on Jo, so presumably he’s in the bathroom. Priestly thinks about the floor, but he takes Cas' old spot instead. It’s warm, and he grabs a cushion to put behind his back in a weak saggy spot.

Jo comes back with a dish of pickle halves and a bowl of red grapes. Priestly makes grabby hands and she sits next to him. He's eaten about eight grapes (six in his mouth at once and then Jo tried to 'pop' them through his cheeks) before he snags a pickle piece and crunches into it, savoring the sourness. It makes the next grape taste extra-tart.

Jo stands up quickly when Cas comes back in, gesturing to her spot and making friendly noises around the pickle in her mouth.

Priestly accidentally swallows a grape whole when Cas flops down hard next to him, throwing out a hand to keep from rolling into Cas’ body.

"Sorry," Cas says, not really sounding it. Jo snorts and curls up against their feet. Priestly tosses her a pillow to sit on, but not before whacking Cas with it.

Cas takes a grape from Priestly's handful and grins in the face of Priestly's mock-glare. Cas is fitting in, all right.

By the time Inigo is exacting his vengeance, Jo’s moved so she’s mostly against Cas' side of the loveseat, leaving their legs free to stretch out. Priestly's are extended, occasionally playing sleepy footsie with a snoozing Chuck.

It’s harmless and Priestly giggles when Ruby takes a couple more shots, wincing when the flash on her phone blinds them all briefly (except Chuck who’s out cold).

Priestly’s briefly distracted through Westley's "To the Pain" speech because Cas keeps—nudging him, shifting in the loveseat, wiggling his butt and moving his legs to tuck one underneath himself, foot touching Priestly's leg. Priestly can feel when he moves his toes.

The loveseat isn’t big, and Priestly isn’t a small guy. Cas is tallish, kind of leggy; still, they should be able to fit on the loveseat without being in each other's space this much. Cas _seems_ to be into the movie, distracted even from stealing any more grapes (which Priestly feels to be a clever ruse as Cas proves capable of multitasking whilst appearing engrossed, and he’s fended off several stealthy attempts already).

Priestly is no stranger to proximity; Chuck's nap-cuddling happens more often than not to whomever’s nearby, and between the furniture and the company—this is family. Puppy-piling sometimes happens. Even so, Jo's sly looks over her shoulder make him wonder, make him side-eye Cas. Priestly has the distinct feeling he’s being...not felt up, but felt out, maybe. Waters are being tested.

Priestly doesn’t really know what to do about it, so he doesn’t do anything. The movie is almost over anyway.

\- -

Priestly gets Ash to take Chuck home (Chuck drowsily refused the sofa when Ruby said she wanted to watch _Aliens,_ which Chuck hates), and they wait for Ash to come back with pizzas.

Priestly usually cooks on an early movie night, roping in recruits as sous chefs. On late nights they grab or call for pizza, or Jo brings Roadhouse food, especially if there’s a marathon in the air.

Priestly and Jo are sleepy enough that they convince Ruby to play just the second movie and Jo drags out the papasan from Priestly's bedroom (under pain of death that she put the damn thing back like she found it) and makes herself a nest in the middle of the living room. Ruby puts her feet up on it.

That leaves Cas and Priestly still on the loveseat, though the shuffling and pizza-eating allow Priestly to pay attention when Cas sits back down.

Too close, but not too-too close.

Ruby gives him an angelic smile across the papasan, and nudges Jo with her foot. Cas appears oblivious, not having seen _Aliens_ either and really enjoying the cheese and olives. He declares that Vasquez is his favorite.

At some point, Priestly falls asleep.

\- -

The microwave says it’s just after one-thirty when Priestly groans himself awake on the loveseat. It isn't really made for sleeping, especially not when he’s crammed against one of the arms.

His neck and shoulder let him know this is bullshit in no uncertain terms, and Priestly’s sitting up and rubbing at the painful area when Jo snorts herself awake in the papasan. Ash had probably been the one to shut off the TV and the lights. Maybe Ruby took Cas home.

"Blergh," Jo grumbles, and nestles around.

"You wanna sleep in the bed?" Priestly says. "Or I can make up the couch."

"This good," Jo murmurs, and she’s snoring softly under a minute later. Priestly smiles at the papasan and goes for a blanket.

Cas scares the shit out of him in the hall in front of the dark bathroom, plumbing whooshing in the walls. "Jesus," Priestly says. "Hey, Cas. You staying here?"

He says it to the dark shadow that is _probably_ Cas, and the shadow doesn’t move or speak. Priestly goes by into his bedroom to grab the blanket for Jo and has the sense that Cas follows him. He finds the switch and Cas blinks at him groggily in the light.

"Sorry," Priestly says, shrugging. "You're welcome to the couch, since I think Jo's gonna crash in the papasan." Priestly looks over his shoulder and sees Cas squinting up at the bed; Priestly wonders if he’s ever seen one like it before.

"You can take the bed if you want," Priestly says cautiously, unsure how Cas’ll take the offer.

Cas is quiet long enough that Priestly finds the blanket he wants (Jo'd dumped it off the papasan when she'd dragged it out) and he hands it to Cas. "Take this and put it over Jo," he says, and Cas wanders to the living room.

Priestly makes the straight climb up into his bed—not quite seven feet off the ground, max altitude—and grabs a couple pillows, one of which he doesn’t really use that much. He tosses them over the side and remembers the papasan isn't there to catch them at the same time there’s a squawk and pair of soft thuds.

"Shit." Priestly crabs over to the edge of the bed and peers over the railing. Cas looks up at him grumpily, his hair crazy and two pillows on the floor near his feet.

Priestly tries not to grin but it’s a losing battle. "You okay?"

Cas grunts and picks up the pillows, trudging to the living room.

Priestly snorts, fixes the sheets he'd messed up and moves to climb down. Cas is in the way, sans pillows.

"You gotta scoot, dude," Priestly says, not waiting before slithering down the ladder-end of the bed in the awkward but learned dance that gets him vertical with nothing broken. He lands a little close to Cas; Priestly’s starting to realize the guy has no concept of personal space.

This is reinforced when Cas shifts as if to let him by, but then firm hands fall onto his shoulders from behind and _dig_.

“Hey, hey, personal spa…” Priestly tenses in reflex, but Cas—Cas’ hands are _magic._ “Hng.”

Cas works on him for maybe thirty seconds, long enough for Priestly's brain to fuzz and his shoulders and neck to tingle, maybe not quite long enough for weirdness to set in. Maybe Priestly’s getting used to it.

Cas' fingers fall away, leaving Priestly's skin warm, muscles buzzing under his shirt. He turns to question Cas with his eyebrows since his mouth isn’t working.

Cas' face is far less confident than his hands, and he has a hard time keeping Priestly's eyes (a first). "My brother is a massage technician," he says, like that explains it.

Cas sort of wilts under Priestly's continued stare, so he says, "That's—he taught you that?"

Cas gives a jerky nod, and it’s like as soon as his eyes catch on Priestly's again they’re glued there. "A few things, um. Here and there.” Another silence stretches, Cas blinking but not breaking their eye contact. “I used to work very long hours," he says, kind of helplessly.

Priestly feels his face soften, and Cas continues, "You were favoring the trapezius and some minor muscles, here," he says, starting to point behind Priestly’s neck, and seems to catch himself before he touches Priestly, his finger barely grazing the air over his shirt. "If it stays tight like that you'll be in pain by morning," Cas says. His voice is—lower than normal, Priestly thinks. Fuzzier, rougher. Cas finally looks over at the bed and only then does Priestly realize that yeah, maybe they do—stare, or whatever. "I suppose you're going to climb back up there, so perhaps this was—pointless."

Priestly doesn't say anything, kind of mesmerized by Cas speaking so much at once.

And the voice thing.

 _You could stay upstairs,_ Priestly almost says, thinking only that the bed’s a Cal king and there’s plenty of room and he'd have Cas' magic fingers on standby before the thought hits his real brain, gets translated and makes him go static-y again.

The silence grows and he’s just—looking at Cas until Cas stammers, "I. Um, I apologize if my actions were...unwelcome."

Priestly blinks. "No," he says, not sure what he’s refusing. "No, Cas, it was—I didn't expect you to, uh, do that. It was—" Cas' face makes Priestly want to do bizarre things, like pat his crazy hair to see if it settles. "It helped," he says seriously, and Cas relaxes all at once.

"Oh," he says, "good." His eyes go shifty again and they awkwardly shuffle around each other on the way back to the living room.

Priestly grabs one of his old spare sheets (queen, the threadbare twin set in the closet somewhere) and another blanket to set up the sofa. Cas tucks Jo in, and he watches silently as Priestly fluffs the pillows and gestures at the sofa. "Not much," he says, "but I sleep on it now and then." Cas moves to sit on the couch, and Priestly drags over his little but heavy wooden side table he inherited from Ellen. He gets him a fresh glass of water.

"You know where the bathroom is. Anywhere special to be in the morning?"

Cas shakes his head, and looks at the table with the water, hands absently patting the sheet-covered cushions. He looks up at Priestly so sincerely as he says "Thank you" that Priestly clears his throat and feels his own eyes rabbiting.

"No worries, man," he manages, “don’t die on Jo if you have to get up.” He turns out the hall light as he heads for the bathroom to brush his teeth. He’ll plug in the nightlight there to prevent any papasan-related fatalities.

\- -

Daylight creeps through the top of the window where there’s a gap in the blinds, and the apartment is quiet. Priestly watches lazy dust motes in the air before he realizes he’s awake.

His neck and shoulder ache a little, but maybe not as bad as they could be. The loveseat is not for sleeping, that’s for damned sure, but a night in his own bed—and maybe Cas' intervention—means that he feels pretty okay. He kinda notices the lack of the other pillows, though, which is weird. Maybe he was more used to them than he thought.

Priestly’s just shy enough of thirty that he can stretch out and groan, slither down the ladder back-first and bounce on landing, stretching again. He hits the bathroom and washes his hands, grimacing at his hair. He has an old hand towel he lays on his pillow when he sleeps in his mohawk, but he tries not to; the result is always an uncomfortable crunchy mess that sheds flecks of color everywhere.

He checks on Jo and—right, Cas stayed over. Priestly wants to take a picture before he remembers he forgot his phone 'downstairs' and hadn't taken it up to the bed with him, where an extra-long cable winds along the thick cross-supports to charge it up.

It’s still on the little table that has Cas' glass of water, more than half-empty and thoughtfully on the coaster. The phone still has a charge, just enough for Priestly to back up and take a quick shot of Jo in the papasan—an almost-shapeless lump but for what is clearly her butt sticking in the air under the blanket, tangles of blonde hair leaking from under the opposite side—and Cas with an arm thrown up over his head, mouth open and a bare leg sticking out, socked foot tucked into a pile of jeans on the floor.

Priestly smiles, his chest all warm, and goes to take a shower.

\- -

"I'm sorry I missed the morning-after mohawk," Jo says around a yawn. Castiel squints at her from the couch, still waking up. Priestly is in the kitchen scrambling eggs for omelettes, and Castiel is distracted by Priestly in his day-off clothes moving about his kitchen with confidence. His hair is plain so far, just—brown and a little fluffy on top, though it seems to rise into a natural if relaxed faux-hawk on its own, some wayward cowlicks at the back and a pointy little V at his neck.

"If he doesn't shower before he goes to bed, his hair's all crazy the next day," Jo explains, glancing over to Castiel from her papasan nest she refuses to let Priestly dismantle. "Kinda like yours." Castiel pats at his hair self-consciously, aware that he’s back in his jeans and a brightly-colored borrowed tee _(You Can READ!)_ and that he could use a shower. Jo's hair is a little wild too, but she doesn't seem to care about that or the state of her own clothes.

She is clearly very comfortable here, as is Priestly.

It is Priestly's apartment, of course. No reason the man shouldn't feel comfortable in his own kitchen in a well-worn shirt, socks and boxers.

Soft gray boxers with purple hearts all over them.

"Castiel," Jo says, leaning very close. Castiel looks at her. "Are you checking my brother out?"

Castiel blinks, formerly unaware of their relation, and looks back to Priestly. He can’t actually see Priestly's lower half when he moves in front of the stove because of the bar and sink, but he’d seen his long legs and his feet and knees and his thighs, and he can watch his shoulders, the muscles in his back as he tends the stovetop, the bare skin from the bottoms of his sleeves to the tops of his bent elbows.

Jo is very comfortable here, and had extended a clear welcome to Castiel both with her invitation and her actions last night. Her tone is teasing more than anything, and the smell of food and the atmosphere—lived-in, "chill," as Ash would say—it’s something intimate that he’s been allowed to exist in.

Castiel looks back at Jo.

"Maybe," he says, not quite holding his breath.

Jo looks a little surprised, and then she smiles.

Castiel breathes out.

The omelettes are delicious, especially when they come with leftover grapes.

 

**SAM**

_In which we meet a Winchester_

The day Sam shows up is fairly routine; Priestly’s making a pretty normal ham and cheese. Mr Pickett is an older guy and he can get cranky, but he treats the girls properly (Bobby only had to give him a look once and the codger had softened right up). Priestly adds the requested pickles to the sandwich and idly scrapes at the griddle surface with his spatula; all in all, a standard Tuesday.

Jo’s due in later, because she got into Tuesday and Thursday classes for the summer pre-session at Cabrillo; Bobby’s messing with the books in back, hunched over coffee that’s more Irish than caffeine. Cas doesn't come in on Tuesdays anymore because he set a schedule with Gabriel, but Priestly figures that when Bobby sees the light and hires Cas on things’ll get smooth.

Between Mr Pickett and the empty shop, Ruby has the front covered. He can hear her crushing candies or whatever on her phone; summer is supposed to be the on-season, but it hasn’t quite made it that far yet, stuck the awkward stage between school getting out and tourists showing up.

The sandwich is made, wrapped, and change exchanges hands. Priestly scrapes down the griddle some more and waits for a phone order or something to happen; he’s ready to count the cold cuts when the bell jingles. The door doesn’t slam, so it’s probably not a student, but he doesn’t bother to turn around anyway.

"Wow, you're tall."

Priestly rolls his eyes at Ruby's transparency and takes his spatula down from where he hung it up. Slow days are funny that way; he'd get ready to catch up on make-work, then things happen and he doesn’t actually get ahead.

"Nice hair."

Priestly’s fingers go loose on the spatula.

He hasn't heard that voice in a long time. It’s different and deeper but he knows it like he knows his own. Still so young, unsure. Priestly's belly flops over, and he almost drops the spatula as he turns around. He doesn’t know what his face looks like but he can feel his eyes going wide.

Same stupid floppy hair but not; big, broad shoulders that are hunching like he’s trying to make himself smaller; a nervous not-smile with dimples that brings out the fourteen-year-old Priestly last saw in person, when there’d been yelling and anger and tears.

Priestly stares because he has no words.

Sammy's gotten a lot taller.

"Hey, Dean," Sammy says, and it’s so painfully obvious he’s trying to break whatever this is in the air with his nervous little half-smile from six-and-god-knows feet up. His eyes dance to Priestly's hair, his chin and then his nose, over to one ear and the other. It takes a bit—more of Priestly doing his own inventory of Sammy—to hear what he says.

"...’Dean?’" It’s Ruby's voice that breaks the tension, and Priestly drags his eyes off of this giant who is—used to be his family. He maybe glances sideways at Ruby once but he can't stop staring at Sammy—Sammy, his giant little brother, who came from wherever to just appear and talk to him.

"I'm Sam," Sammy says to Ruby, kind of shy but also really still looking at Priestly, like he’s afraid Priestly’s gonna disappear or something, and this unsticks Priestly's throat.

"Sammy," he says, a dry croak, and he swallows but it’s too dry, and it comes out kind of a question.

One word says too much and asks more: who are you, where were you, did you come to find me, did you look for me, I'm sorry, forgive me—

and _holy shit I missed you._

"Can we talk?" Sammy says, and he’s got this stupid puppy face on and Priestly doesn't know if he nods or what, but Ruby’s staring as she holds up the counter and Sammy’s opening the front door and they’re outside, where it’s bright and breezy.

Sammy's hair flies everywhere and he reaches up to brush at his bangs, making Priestly aware of just how big his little brother is.

"Sammy?" he says. He can't seem to say anything else.

He isn't expecting the giant crushing hug that’s too sudden and over too fast, he doesn’t even manage to pat Sammy on the back—and he just stands there stupid and stunned. Sammy’s eyes look like—he’s all grown up but Priestly can see her in him,and he’d been so _stupid_ to run.

It's been ten years since he's seen his little brother, his Sammy that he last saw when he was barely to his shoulder, angry and teary-eyed and lost because of Priestly.

Priestly swallows, and he glances back at the shop.

"Lemme," he says, clearing his throat. "Be right back, don't—"

"I'll be here," Sammy says, and Priestly turns back as fast as he can before his eyes start stinging.

\- -

Sammy’s looking at Priestly's old Nova and drawing a hand down her quarter panel when Priestly comes out, Bobby looking suspiciously unsurprised at Sam’s sudden appearance. Priestly feels inexplicably angry so he bursts out the door before he can say anything he’ll regret.

Sammy starts, hand in the air, and Priestly wonders how he knows which car was his.

Maybe because it’s the only classic Chevy in the lot, a little beat-up and covered in three colors of primer over her faded original green, her black hardtop showing her age.

Priestly gestures at the Nova vaguely. "You, uh. Wanna get some—food?" he says, ignoring the fact that they’re standing with his own sandwich shop behind them.

"Show me your place?" Sammy asks, still a little unsure, and Priestly just opens the passenger door.

\- -

The drive is awkward, Priestly not used to having Sammy so big next to him, seeing his hair blow in the wind and have them both just stare ahead out the windshield.

Sammy's long legs eat up the stairs to the apartment, and Priestly knows the doorways are tall enough but he still expects his brother to have to duck to get in as he shows him the living room, the kitchen and toilet. The high ceilings had always made him feel like he could breathe, compared to other places, and it’s almost weird to see Sammy not look too big except when he’s in the short hallway.

"So...I guess that's the tour," Priestly says, trying not to shuffle his feet in his own room as Sammy comes out from his bathroom pit stop.

"You have a loft bed,” Sammy says, and it never looked so small with Sammy standing next to it, craning up but barely having to tiptoe to see the top of the mattress.

The loft bed’s huge, custom-made that way, strong Douglas Fir that Priestly wants to stain a deep cherry when he gets the chance. There’s just under six feet of clearance underneath, a big footprint because of the Cal king, tall railings for the thick pad, an end-climb design for sturdiness and because there’s no space for a separate ladder. The long side of the bed braces the bigger window in the room, Priestly's computer desk and little art drafting table stashed under it along with his guitar on its stand. Shells that Jo picked up from the beach are strung on hemp and hang down the inside corners, orange and salmon and natural shades, swirly ones and purple ones and smooth ones.

And Sammy stands next to the bed, next to the monstrosity and makes it look—Sammy’s so _tall_ it’s hard to grasp. He’s gotta be be six-four, maybe. He'd seemed so _small_ the last time Priestly’d seen him, eyes full of hurt and salt.

Sammy isn’t looking at him, and Priestly desperately wants to say something before it gets even more uncomfortable but nothing really comes.

"Dude. Is that an Elder Scrolls Anthology?" Sammy ducks his huge frame under the bed to look at the desk covered in paper and random shit. The sight of Sammy bent nearly in half to poke around loosens something in his chest.

Priestly feels his shoulders coming up—a little pride, a little something that’s just Sammy here, in his home, geeking out. "Maybe."

He can see Sammy smile as he touches the box, tentative enough that it makes guilt curl in Priestly's gut. Who are they that Sam feels like a stranger in his brother's home?

Priestly was the one who'd left, and it’s him who’s trying to make Sammy feel welcome, Sammy who'd come to find _him._ Priestly’s inviting himinto his home and hoping he isn’t found wanting.

It’s small, the sight of his giant brother here, but the moment—the 'tour,' all of it, it makes Priestly realize just how badly he misses Sammy, how badly he wants his brother back.

“You ever made it out of the first dungeon in Daggerfall?” Sammy says, and Priestly snorts, surprising himself.

“No,” Priestly says. He hasn’t played Daggerfall since—since. “Blew something like five hundred hours in Skyrim, though.” Sammy huffs and shakes his head at that.

The quiet stretches out a little. "Are you...staying at a motel?" Priestly says. Sammy turns to him, his hair flopping because he can’t straighten out under the bed. He picks up the poop-shaped plushie in front of Priestly's monitor, squeezing it, and Sammy gives it a look when it squeaks—tiny his his big paw—and puts it back.

Priestly swallows again, risks a quick touch to Sammy's shoulder. It’s hard to meet his brother's eyes, but he does. "I mean, I dunno if you'd fit on the couch," he says, Sammy smiling wryly at that. The words come easier, then. "You're welcome to stay here," Priestly says. "If you want."

Sammy looks at him, and comes out from under the bed. Priestly isn’t used to people making him feel small.

"I left my bag in your car," he says, watching Priestly.

"Keys in the dish by the door," Priestly says. "Go get it."

\- -

Sammy stays till the weekend, and there’s a tentative, silent agreement that they aren’t going to tell Jo he’s here yet. She’s covering shifts at the Roadhouse, and between that and her Thursday class they pull it off.

Priestly doesn’t know if it’s a compromise, because Jo’s going to kill him later, and Sammy’d love to see her, but—this, whatever this is is brand-new and fragile, and it isn’t gonna be perfect to start.

Priestly learns that Sammy (“Dude, it’s _Sam,”)_ is still headed for the pre-law track at Stanford, that he took a bus to get here. He learns that some classes are boring while others alternately kick his butt. Sammy has a girlfriend named Jess who’s crazy smart and supportive and too good for this earth (Priestly believes him—Sammy goes all starry-eyed and something in how he speaks spawns this weird ache in Priestly’s chest) and she’s a year younger but a semester ahead and is thinking of double-majoring in medicine and basically she’s made of unicorns.

Priestly’s kind of stupidly happy to hear all this, even if it makes him feel really weird.

His little brother is growing up, _has_ grown up (but still has a ton of growing left, physical stature notwithstanding, what was he even _eating_ ) and he has _plans_ and the beginnings of a life and places to go.

Priestly has to leave the room more than once, and Sammy doesn’t follow him the first time, because he still knows him—god, how did Priestly ever think either of them can forget—and Priestly has to breathe, to just _breathe_ and be alone because—because he’s the one who left and he’s the one who was always supposed to look out for his little brother, look out for Sammy—

He _left._

He shuffles around the kitchen, brings them back snacks (Sammy seems to think he can fit into the papasan while Priestly spins around in his chair under the bed—it’s a little dicey but it works) and Sammy just starts back up where he’d left off while Priestly listens.

The second time Priestly gets up Sammy follows him and doesn’t let him get beyond the hallway before he wraps giant arms around him from behind (when had Sammy gotten so _strong?),_ and he doesn’t say anything when Priestly’s shoulders jerk and and his breath hitches. He doesn’t fight Priestly but he doesn’t let go, either.

When Priestly stops fighting himself, when he chokes out “I’m so _sorry,_ Sammy,” Sammy does say something.

Sammy says that he forgives him, and that he hopes Priestly can do the same.

He doesn’t say if he means for Priestly to forgive Sam or himself, but Priestly knows he means both.

 

**OPEN ENROLLMENT**

_In which we obtain health coverage, a tenant errant, and a houseplant_

“What’re you up to?”

Priestly taps and clicks and taps some more. “Health insurance,” he says absently, half-mumbling and squinting at the screen. Sam bugged him to the point that Priestly relented and said he’d research; it’s confusing enough that he thinks he’ll maybe email Sam some plan details and get his opinion.

“Glasses aren’t a bad thing, Priestly,” Jo says, rummaging through clothes piled into the papasan. She came over to do laundry and is folding their combined clothes, and Priestly left his finished loads piled on the cushion because he’s lazy and Jo’s seen worse.

“Need insurance for those, smartass,” Priestly says.

“Why start looking now?” Jo says, and suddenly Priestly has a thought that Sam might have forgotten a piece of clothing and he turns quickly in the chair.

"What're you doing?" Cas’ voice comes from above them, grumpy and gruff.

"Holy _shit,"_ Jo says, dropping whatever she’s holding. Priestly breathes out, relaxing up until he remembers there might be stuff of _his_ he doesn’t want Cas to see in that pile.

...maybe he’ll think they’re Jo’s.

Jo looks up at the railing far over her head. "Castiel?"

Castiel mumbles what might be a greeting, and shuffles around. Jo ducks under the bed to hold Priestly’s shoulder, and he slaps at her kung-fu grip and tries to shake her off.

 _“Are you sleeping with Cas?”_ she hisses, and Priestly turns to her incredulously.

 _“What the hell,”_ he hisses back, and further rustling above them makes Priestly’s cheeks heat. He’s glad for the distraction but this is _not_ how he wants this to go. His ears are red, he can feel it. He glares.

“No,” he says firmly, and then Cas is slithering down the ladder-end of the bed, bare legs and boxer-clad ass sliding into view as he negotiates the wooden rungs with ease, coming to rest lightly on his feet.

Jo looks mildly impressed, and Priestly has to admit he is too. Cas’ bed-head is wild, and Priestly (again) wants to ruffle it or pat it or something.

But he doesn’t. He stays in his chair. Because he’s on the computer looking for health insurance because Sam and he’s gotta tell Jo sometime soon that his brother’s back and Cas is over there on the other side of the bed in a plain white tee and plain white boxers by the papasan idly poking at clothes (who even does that) that maybe are Sam’s and _fuck_ Priestly _knows_ he’d washed the red ones and why would Priestly ruffle Cas’ hair, anyway.

Jo doesn’t have his indecisive restraint (and she can also do things like move and _breathe)_ and reaches right through the wood frame to give Cas a good ruffling, which has him ducking and making this pathetic sort of growly noise. “Jo, leave him alone,” Priestly says, finding his voice. Coming to Cas’ defense must be offensive because Cas’ sleepy glare swings to Priestly at full power. At least he leaves the clothes alone.

Priestly has to smirk. “It’s after nine, dude,” he says, and Cas narrows his eyes, all _I’m watching you_ as he grumps off to the bathroom.

Priestly realizes he’s still grinning and staring at the hallway when his eyes swing over to Jo. Her eyebrows are trying to escape her forehead.

“Dude I am not sleeping with Cas,” Priestly says all at once. Because _emphasis._

Jo is not one to relent, and she can say all kinds of things because Priestly isn’t saying anything else. She can ask why Cas took the bed, where Priestly slept (the couch) but instead her eyes lose an edge, and that makes Priestly’s gut drop because it’s somehow _worse._

“He’s just...staying over, then?” Jo’s at least trying for chill, and Priestly can only let it slide and hope for the best.

“His place, his brother’s place is like north of Water and on the other side ogf the river,” Priestly says, and kind of stalls again.

Jo doesn’t say anything.

The truth is Cas basically spent the weekend with Priestly, or at least Friday afternoon, night, and now Saturday morning. He _did_ wander by the shop as he does, and he came in bearing a tiny salmon-colored bougainvillea in a pot. “From Ellen,” he’d said, and “I have nowhere to put it.” Priestly had gathered he’d basically moved full-time into his brother’s condo, and while he has no idea why the plant couldn’t live there it looks really nice outside with Priestly’s modest flock of leaf-babies.

“He came by the shop late and I took him to the Roadhouse. Your mom made him a killer burger and he said he was too full to ride the bus home. I offered,” Priestly says, raising his finger, “and he said he needed to collapse into a food coma.” Priestly pauses.

“So, uh. I brought him home. It was closer.”

Jo stares for a while longer, and Priestly’d glare if his butterflies hadn’t insisted on losing their shit.

There’s thumping and maybe Cas growling again and then the shower turns on. Priestly leans to look—Cas left the door open. Jo sighs. “Come on,” she says. “Make me bacon and I’ll do your nails.”

Priestly eyes her; she knows he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t know what the hell it is and she’s not pushing. He accepts the truce for what it is and puts the PC into sleep mode while Jo gets the nail stuff from the bathroom; presumably Cas pulled the dark curtain closed at least. Jo does close the door as she comes out. Priestly wonders if Cas is even awake enough to notice.

He follows Jo into the kitchen after a quick search for any evidence of Sam and tucking not less than three pairs of underwear safely in the closet, before pulling one back out.

\- -

That’s how Castiel finds them, black grapes mostly eaten off a large bunch in a bowl on Priestly’s tiny dining table, toast crumbs and a piece of bacon sitting on a big plate that’s been pushed to the side. Jo has one of Priestly’s hands in hers, and is carefully applying black polish to his left pinky.

Priestly’s shower has amazing water pressure, and the hammer of hot water did wonders for Castiel’s sleepy saltiness. Priestly has a bizarre selection of organic shampoos and conditioners, so Castiel had sniffed a few before choosing a set that boasted Moroccan argan oil.

The mirrored doors over the linen closet in the bathroom had been opened to one side, and Castiel had dripped his way over for a towel. He figured it was more polite than using Priestly’s. Castiel is fairly certain Jo came in at one point and closed the door, which is thoughtful since one can see into the living area from the bathroom.

Priestly, or perhaps Jo set out a soft slate-blue t-shirt and a pair of faded orange cargo shorts for him in the bedroom, draped over the papasan. There’s also a familiar pair of heart-festooned boxers strewn across the shorts in a manner Castiel strongly feels is entirely Jo’s doing. He’d pulled on the shirt and boxers and left the cargo shorts where they lay, draping the towel over the shower rod and following his stomach down the short hall.

Priestly’s free hand is fiddling with the metal ball above his chin, and he looks hypnotized by the movements of the brush in Jo’s fingers. Castiel unabashedly takes the only other chair and is careful not to jar the table. He notes that the polish on Priestly’s right hand—also black, on the thumb, index and pinky fingers—is chipped and worn. The scent of acetone mixes weirdly with bacon in the air, and Castiel eyes the lone strip.

“That’s unsanitary,” he says to Priestly’s chin, and Priestly nods towards the bacon.

“I know. Go for it,” he says, and Castiel reaches between them. “Gonna change this out in a sec anyway.”

Castiel crunches the bacon and looks around. Jo is giving Priestly a significant look, and Priestly drops his hand while she blows gently over his pinky.

“I’ll feed you,” Priestly says, “unless you wanna fend for yourself.”

“If that’s all right,” Castiel says, swallowing the last bits of bacon when they go mushy and he can’t savor them any longer. “I’ve imposed upon you quite a bit already.” He glances between them, well aware subtlety isn’t one of his stronger points, and Priestly clears his throat. Castiel sees his ears going a little red—they seem to do that pretty easily.

Priestly turns his attention to Castiel—he gets bold when he’s embarrassed, Castiel thinks—and takes in his wet hair and the shirt, eyes lingering for a moment on Castiel’s collarbones. Priestly blinks when Jo tugs on his hand and he gives her his right thumb and she gets a cotton ball and the remover. “Fridge is all yours, dude,” Priestly says, and Castiel conceals a surprisingly sharp shot of satisfaction when Priestly does a double-take at his purple-hearted ass.

Jo snorts, and Castiel sorely wants to see Priestly’s face but he makes himself walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. He’s on a mission, after all.

\- -

Priestly lets Jo blow over the fresh coat on the right hand while the left finishes drying. Cas throws together a pretty impressive sandwich and brings several pickles with him to the table. This makes him Priestly’s favorite person until he realizes he doesn’t have hands with which to eat a pickle at this time. He mournfully watches Cas crunch one, and Jo, likewise indisposed, commiserates with him in silence.

She gets up to clean up the remover and polish and smudged cotton balls, and Priestly waves his hands around away from Cas’ face. He takes the opportunity to just look. Cas either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care—maybe because he stares at people like, all the time—and he fairly demolishes his sandwich in short order. Priestly lets himself give Cas an impressed face when Cas finally looks up. His hamster cheeks and wide-eyes get a snort out of Priestly, and Cas chews, swallows and touches his lips with his paper-towel-as-napkin a little sheepishly. Priestly’s smirk should be smirkier, but it comes out kind of soft.

Cas’ eyes fall to his mouth, and instead of staring he looks down at his plate and takes another too-big bite. Priestly sees that he’s blushing.

Jo rejoins them at the table and loudly bites into a pickle, snapping Priestly out of it. She checks her phone, and Cas chews in a more subdued fashion.

It’s at this moment that Priestly realizes Cas is cute.

This is perhaps an inaccurate assessment; Cas is cute and Priestly’s seen it before. It’s more that Priestly’s brain has decided to _find_ Cas cute.

Priestly has learned a little about how Cas lives—-he puts his socks in the hamper but he keeps leaving his one pair of jeans on the floor when he stays over (he’s only been over, like, three times). He's good about his shoes, putting them where the rest go. He washes dishes even when Priestly says he can put them in the dishwasher.

And, apparently, he’s cute, with his food cheeks and fluffy-crazy hair.

Priestly takes this information with him to the kitchen where he washes his hands, nails finally dry, leaving Cas to his own devices and hitting the bathroom. There are leftover plastic dosage cups from his last cold, little blue square things that he uses to wash his studs. He fills one with saline solution and thinks of Jo and Ruby’s weirdness about Cas as he loosens the stud, holding the disc of the labret with his teeth. He drops the ball into the cup when it comes free. He’ll clean it properly later, after the salt does its work.

He hooks the disc with his bottom teeth and pulls the bar free of his lip, rinsing it in hot water and setting it on the counter. He dabs at the piercing with a salined cotton swab before using a new one on the labret, pushing it back through his lip when he’s done.

He thinks of Bobby hiring Cas on as he washes his hands again and slides open the narrow medicine cabinet to look at his choices.

Priestly thinks of Cas’ (his) boxers, of the underwear he changed into before bacon with Jo, and picks a ball he hasn’t worn in years. He cleans it just to be safe and carefully screws it into place, again holding the disc in his teeth and making sure it’s tight.

He looks at the helix in his left ear; the black spike is boring him, so he pulls it and picks a dark niobium twist to switch it out with. He looks at the pair of small steel rings in his right lobe, and decides to change them out with little silver captives, careful with the soft metal and the little balls.

Priestly sets out his eyeliner pen and slides the big mirrored doors over to reveal his hair shit: a rainbow of colors arranged by brand, hue, and hold, green to metallic copper, bright orange to deep blue and just about everything he can get his hands on in between (except for silver and gold, which is tacky).

Priestly looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t have anywhere to go or anything exciting to do, and Cas will probably just want a ride home. He’ll just want to chill be lazy by himself and not hang with Priestly, but—Jo’d done his nails. He had a fresh stud in his face. Priestly wanted to treat himself a little, whether Cas hung out or not.

He doesn’t know what it is, but maybe Jo and Ruby see something he doesn’t. Priestly likes being noticed, likes being looked at though nobody really does that anymore except in the negative. He wants to look good for himself, sure. But Cas—Cas looks at him, and does it different than anybody else has in a long time.

Cas looks at Priestly’s hair, his metal, his tattoos and his shirts, and he sees Priestly.

Priestly doesn’t know what to do with this, but he thinks he kinda likes it.

Priestly grabs his combs and fills the sink with hot water, choosing his color and getting to work.

\- -

Priestly’s taking a long-ass time to pretty himself up. Jo kind of wants to stick around to see why (she has an idea but she wants to see where it goes). If she didn’t have to help Mom for the afternoon shift she’d stay, but she’s gotta go soon.

She likes Cas, likes him a lot. He’s quirky as hell and kind of adorable, and he doesn’t treat her like a kid. Cas doesn’t see some girl who is twenty-two and working at her mother’s bar, taking community college classes, who looks up to her crazy big brother and wants to be just like him.

He just sees Jo, listens to her when she speaks, like he’s letting her define herself. Or something. There’s just something about Cas when he looks at a person, like he sees the important shit beyond the surface.

Jo also sees how Cas looks at Priestly. He admitted his interest when asked. Priestly’s never gone for a guy before, but he’s acting all weird. He only ever gets weird like this when there’s someone to get weird about.

Jo gets her stuff together and tidies up the kitchen and table, loading up the dishwasher and leaving the leftover grapes out for grazing. Either Cas or Priestly will finish them off, sure as the sun comes up.

“Are you headed out?” Cas says, his voice not really any less deep and rough now as it is when he’s all grumpy.

“Need a ride?” Jo says lightly, waiting to see where Cas goes with it. “I’m headed to Mom’s in about an hour and a half, but I can swing you home.” She’d be happy to use the time to interrogate Cas in the car, and she thinks Cas knows this.

“I’ll stick around,” Cas says, and there he goes eating the grapes. “I don’t have anything to do today.”

“Hanging with Priestly, huh?” Jo lifts the strap of her bag to her shoulder, letting the weight of the question lessen as she draws little stars and hearts all over Priestly’s magnetic whiteboard on the fridge. _At Roadhouse,_ she writes, and then she draws a cartoon dick just because.

“That’s...artistic,” Cas says from right next to her, making her leap out of her skin.

“Jesus, dude,” she says, capping the marker and putting it in its clip. “Wear a bell.”

Cas tilts his head at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Walk me to the door,” she says, expecting Cas to follow her.

He’s there when she opens the big door and unlocks the security door after. She leaves that one shut, the bright sunlight blinding them both for a second. She turns and can see Cas all lit up and squinty, a pattern of shadows on his face, and she takes advantage of it.

“I’ve known Priestly since before he was drinking age, Cas,” she tells him. “He took a long time to get where he is now. He’s—he’s softer than he looks.”

Too much too soon, she thinks. Cas is still squinting—his eyes are really, really blue—and Jo wants to know what he’s thinking. Priestly healed, after Cassie and then after Lisa, and he’d let himself grow again, but something about Cas (Jo knows without knowing how that it’s just _Cas)—_ he makes Priestly’s petals open out again, makes his colors really show. If Cas is gonna let himself be intimidated by Jo now then she’s read him way wrong.

“Don’t hurt my brother,” she says seriously. She wants to say a lot of things and probably stuff she shouldn’t. She knows Cas can’t promise that. Priestly might not even be open to being hurt—there might not even be a thing to get hurt _over._ But Cas, he’s something different and Priestly feels it, whether he realizes it or not.

“I have no intention of doing so,” Cas says with equal gravity, not really all that marred by his squinty sunlight face.

Something about Cas all lit up like this, crazy hair and her brother’s clothes doing nothing to lessen the—the _presence_ of him—it inexplicably makes Jo hope that Priestly will spread his wings and take a leap, maybe fly.

 

**DOWN BY THE SEA**

_In which Castiel comes to love the color purple_

“Cas!”

Castiel starts, and turns to barely see Priestly going into the bedroom from the bathroom. He continues yelling.

“What’re you gonna wear!”

Castiel starts wandering towards the bedroom, and then he realizes Priestly might be changing because he was still in a comfy tee and cutoff sweats with a drawstring, and he’s shouting questions that don’t sound like questions.

“Wanna go to the beach!”

Castiel sighs, and pokes into the bathroom even though the bedroom door is open. He flicks the light on and winces at his hair before his attention is arrested by the purple-tinged water in the sink before him.

It looks like there are two combs floating in it, and one of the plastic knobs has purple smudges down the side.

“Dude, you could answer when I’m talking to you,” Priestly says at normal volume, leaning half-in the bathroom doorway and messing with something at his ear. He takes in Castiel looking at the sink and grins, stepping fully into the bathroom.

He is wearing a black shirt that says _my “People Skills” are “Rusty”_ with the sleeves torn off,and the same dull orange cargo shorts Castiel assumed had been set out for him. They hang a little low on Priestly’s hips.

“Whaddya think?” he says proudly, turning his head to either side.

Castiel tilts his own and gives Priestly’s hair a good look. Priestly has styled it in twin mohawks with a slight swept-back curl, narrowing into a single row at the back of his head.

“It’s...very purple,” he says. Priestly bites his lip a little, the smile going tiny, and when Castiel says “I like it” his face blossoms into a grin again. Priestly’s chin stud is a dark fuschia, and he’s put a spiral-looking ring in his left ear—Castiel thinks there had been something else there before. His arms have a farmer tan over very pleasing structure. Castiel is curious about his tattoos, especially the black stripe (did it cover something?) and he hopes Priestly will tell their stories to him someday.

All in all, he looks lovely.

Priestly apparently doesn’t feel the same about Castiel. “You can’t go to the beach in that,” he says, pointing to the boxers and making Castiel look down. While Castiel is looking at his bare feet, a hand moves through his hair, fluffing it about and generally making it worse.

Castiel ducks and glares from under his brows.

Priestly’s eyes travel over the mess on Castiel’s head, flicking to the sink and back to Castiel.

“What,” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes.

\- -

Cas is a hell of a sport.

Priestly snorts to himself. ‘Brings out your eyes’ maybe wasn’t the most original, but it makes Cas roll said eyes. He’d let Priestly attack his head with not one but two different shades of blue.

“Scar on your eyebrow and a cigarette, you’re a regular delinquent,” Priestly says proudly. Cas glares at him through the mirror, his messy-casual faux-hawk swept forward, colored streaks for added sass.

It looks good in Priestly’s humble opinion, subtle with his dark crazy hair and bits of color flashing when the light hits it right, and Priestly can imagine Cas in a safety-pinned tee, leather jacket—no, leather vest, maybe he’d have ink on his arms, a lip ring—

Yeah, weird thought, but Priestly can almost see it. Cas doesn’t let him put any eyeliner on him, though Priestly thinks Cas’d look _fantastic_ with it, but he won’t push if the guy doesn’t want a pen in his eye.

Cas’ borrowed shirt is pretty bright, and that Priestly can do something about. “Hang on,” he says, heading for his closet.

He swipes hangers side to side—he’s got a ton of black shirts—and finds one with a faded skull on the front, the fabric soft and aged. He grabs some socks so Cas doesn’t have to wear his old ones.

There’s a pair of jeans in here (somewhere) that Priestly hasn’t quite been able to fit into for a while, and he doesn’t know if they’ll be too long for Cas or if he’ll fit in _them_ but—there they are. Pale-wash, wings stitched into the back pockets.

Priestly grabs a black button-down he hasn’t worn in years on impulse, the sleeves already rolled and buttoned with the little strap.

Cas eyes him when he comes back with the payload, and Priestly just grins and shoves things at him.

“This amuses you,” Cas says through the bathroom door, and Priestly leans against the hallway wall complacently.

“It does,” he admits, and when Cas opens the door Priesty turns a little eagerly, not expecting Cas to be facing away and looking at himself in the mirror.

His eyes fall straight down.

The jeans fit Cas—really nicely. At least in the back.

Priestly jerks his eyes high and watches Cas frown at himself. The shirt’s a little big, so maybe that was wishful thinking, but the tee looks great under it and the—yeah, the jeans might not fit _perfectly,_ because when Cas takes off the button-down Priestly can see they ride a little, uh, a little low, and he’s got bunches of them over his socks and that’s kind of—

Priestly accepts the button-down, and Cas reaches up to touch his hair. It looks like he messed it up more putting the shirt on, but his hand doesn’t come away blue so Priestly’s pretty sure it’s dry. It looks awesome either way.

Priestly makes himself meet Cas’ eyes in the mirror.

“It’s a good look for you, Cas,” he says honestly. Priestly might have a little professional pride in his job on Cas’ hair, but Cas _does_ look good. This kind of thing works for him.

“Grab your shoes,” Priestly says, reaching to slap Cas before he realizes where his hand’s headed, and it ends up as an awkward circling whap to his shoulder that moves Cas in place. He coughs and shoos Cas from the bathroom to clean up—he’s got dark water in the sink from the purple-blue shenanigans and combs sticky with color.

It takes him five minutes max, and he rinses splotches from his hands and dries the counter around the sink. There’s a repetitive noise from the kitchen that’s suspiciously familiar, so he investigates.

“Are you eating my pasta,” Priestly says, and it’s not a question seeing as how he’s caught Cas with his hand putting a long piece of raw spaghetti into his face.

“Uhm,” Cas says around the stiff noodle. He crunches.

“Sam does the same damn thing,” Priestly says. “I don’t get it.”

Cas just crunches more, guiltily closes the pasta jar and gets his shoes.

His slip-on boots look pretty damned good with the outfit, jeans bunching just so with the backs of the cuffs dragging a little. Priestly doesn’t care; jeans are made to be worn and it fits Cas’ new rockstar vibe perfectly.

Cas stands in the living room looking at him, and Priestly looks at Cas. He’s got him all dolled up and Priestly feels pretty put-together, and Cas was just such a great guy about it all, tolerant and kind of—Priestly doesn’t know, but he likes this. Whatever it is, he likes it.

Priestly takes in a breath. “Let’s go to the Boardwalk,” he says, impressed with himself for getting that out and trying to swallow it so the pride won't show.

He doesn’t know what Cas’ll do, but Cas just tilts his head and looks at him, and then he says, “Okay.”

\- -

There are parents and kids with kites on the sand, vendors selling cotton candy on Beach Street that people keep trying to eat even as it blows away in strands, the breeze off the ocean a little chilly but the sun bright and warm.

Priestly’s hair barely moves in the wind, and he’s been smiling at the world since the pretzel vendor, Castiel watching him lick salt crystals from his lips.

The ocean is loud at first, and then it’s just background; the people stay loud. Castiel sees families and students and couples, joggers in sweatsuits because of the wind, colorful headphones on and MP3 players strapped to their arms, bright shoelaces.

They graze, Castiel falling helplessly in love with truffle fries next to a Greek food stand at the start of the wharf, Priestly smirking at him in a way that would be flirty if Castiel didn’t know better. He looks indulgent, and Castiel strongly feels that he’s letting himself loose in a way that is intentional but also flying blind, letting the wind take him.

It’s a long walk down the wharf entrance, cars and people going by. Castiel’s stomach feels like the beachside looks, paper and cups flying everywhere, gulls wheeling over the breakers. Castiel wonders if they’re more a summer thing, since there’s not that many. The Boardwalk is a sight to the east, the big landmark wooden coaster carrying riders over and under and up and down, their voices too far away to be heard, snatched up by the wind.

They pass the lifeguard stand and the surf shops and food smells rise from the restaurants and dives, and Castiel is fascinated by chimes of strung shells and big, unbroken sand dollars. Priestly touches him on the back or arm a couple of times when he sees something he thinks Castiel might like.

Castiel looks over at the Boardwalk, and imagines it at night: all lit up, young students and their crushes walking hand-in-hand, playing rigged games of chance and yelling together on the rides.

He wants to win Priestly something, he realizes suddenly. It’s something he needs to do.

Priestly is walking next to him down the length of the wharf, his arms swinging easily by his sides. His hand is right there.

“Do you like rides?” Castiel asks, glancing over at the Boardwalk and curling his fingers into his palms.

Priestly says “huh?” and follows Castiel’s gaze. “Oh. Yeah? I mean sorta?” he scratches at the back of his head just to the side of his mohawk. “Some of ‘em. Been a while since I actually went there.”

“I’m afraid of roller coasters,” Castiel says, as Priestly joins him at the railing squeezed between two shops at the edge of the wharf. There’s not a lot of space between them.

“...do you wanna go?” Priestly asks, and Castiel carefully doesn’t look at him, but at the sky over the Boardwalk. There’s still plenty of daylight left, and he’s not brave enough to do this in the sun.

“I’m not sure,” he says, truthfully. “Maybe?” He finally allows himself to look over at Priestly, squinching his eyes up a little as the day suddenly seems brighter. It’s also the wind. Priestly’s got his elbows on the old wooden rail and is looking at him seriously.

“I like roller coasters,” Priestly says, “but I don’t like whirly rides or the spinny ones.” Castiel’s eyes fall to the shine of his chin stud as he talks, and he doesn’t care that Priestly watches him looking. “I like some of the food but not the atmosphere.” Priestly shrugs, and his eyes travel over Castiel’s face. “Too many people.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, his eyes going to Priestly’s for a moment before he turns back to the bay, unaccountably disappointed. Castiel isn’t one for large crowds either; they’re on the wharf surrounded by early-season tourists and locals and students on break. It’s loud and the sea is whipped by the wind. The sea lions are out in numbers despite what Castiel assumes is the chill in the water.

He doesn’t know anything about sea lions.

Priestly shifts, and suddenly their arms are touching. Castiel thinks Priestly has to be a little cold with his bare arms.

“Cas,” Priestly says. “Do you wanna go to the Boardwalk?”

Castiel swallows, feeling awkward and lost. “I—will you go with me?” he says to the sea, blinking into the wind.

Priestly can read anything into that. He’s the one that asked if Castiel wanted to go in the first place, but they’re at the wharf which is certainly not the Boardwalk and perhaps he’s seeing what Castiel feels written all over his skin like scars, or perhaps raw, open wounds stung by the salt wind.

“Yeah,” Priestly says, and his voice is something Castiel wants to wrap himself within. He turns, just a little.

“If we go on any rides—” he stops. Priestly is looking at him so _intently_ and it should perhaps be a little hypocritical that Castiel is unnerved by it.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, Cas,” Priestly says, and Castiel allows himself to turn, really turn, and look. They’re too close, Castiel’s forearm touching all along Priestly’s. He’s warm.

“Can we go tonight? When the lights are on?” Castiel says, watching each of Priestly’s eyes and getting a little lost in the way the sun brings out different shades of green. They're stunning.

Instead of answering, Priestly’s eyes skip up to Castiel’s hair, moving in the whipped air. “Your hair looks awesome,” is all he says, half a smirk popping up at the corner of his mouth before going a little softer. The thought that Priestly doesn’t know what he’s doing but that he’s running with it is reinforced, and he’s a little scared that Priestly will suddenly realize that they’ve been too close and that they keep looking at each other’s faces and mouths and that he won’t want Castiel to win him something from one of the stupid games.

“C’mon.” Priestly straightens from the railing, leaving Castiel’s arm cold and allowing him to collect himself. “If you wanna go after dark you’re gonna need a hoodie or something and we’ve got a few hours to kill. You want me to drive you back to your brother’s place?”

Castiel really has nothing to do today, and he likes the idea of spending it with Priestly. He worries a little that Priestly will get bored or perhaps he has things to do; it wouldn’t make sense for him to suggest their excursion at a whim, no timeline, if that were the case.

“Hey,” Priestly says, “Earth to Cas.” He ducks his head and runs fingers along one of the mohawks, the strands springing right back into place. “You with me, buddy?”

Castiel looks at his earnest, big eyes, his white teeth caught just a little on his lower lip. He lets himself breathe.

“Yes,” he says, wondering what he means and how Priestly will take it. “I don’t need to go back to Gabriel’s, but perhaps a nap to let all this food settle would be wise.” He lets himself look at Priestly through his lashes. “If we’re going to go on any rides.”

Priestly grins with his tongue in his teeth and bumps his shoulder with a fist, and they begin the long walk back to the car.

\- -

The Boardwalk is both as loud and busy as Castiel expected and not, because Priestly tells him the crowd is ‘thin’ due to the time of year. He spins stories of people packed like sardines, and Castiel says that he is very glad they’re here now instead. Priestly laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard, and Castiel feels his shoulders hunch up under his borrowed hoodie (black, a band’s name Castiel has never heard of is splashed across the back over some kind of symbol in orange and white).

Priestly notices, and he ducks his head a little as he walks beside him. They’re close enough that their shoulders bump now and then, especially when Priestly rolls up the sleeves on his red flannel shirt, though there’s plenty of room on the paths between stalls and rides amidst the people that are here.

“Dude, do you not like crowds?” Priestly asks without an ounce of judgment, and it makes Castiel look up at him, realize he’s drawing into himself. He shakes his head.

“Oh,” is all Priestly says. “Well, thanks for coming here with me.” Castiel blinks; he was the one that asked Priestly here, wasn’t he? “You still up for rides? We don’t gotta do anything you’re not down for.”

He says these things so easily that Castiel relaxes. It takes him a while to notice that Priestly seems to be a little larger next to him, his shoulders back a little and his chin high—he’s making his presence bigger, and people seem to be giving them a wider berth. Castiel ducks a small secret smile into his chest that he covers with a cough.

“I am curious about that great wooden beast,” he says after a while; they’ve been wandering towards it for some time. It’s a little hard to avoid as it seems to take up half the park, the cars making Castiel’s chest rumble every time they shoot by. “I think I’m less intimidated by it than the new metal roller coasters.”

“Oh man,” Priestly says. “The Dipper is awesome. Wooden coasters are more fun, way less scary. Wanna give it a go?”

Castiel elects to withhold his opinion until they’re standing in front of the line, looking up at it. People are chatting, some nervous, some looking—normal. This close, it’s a monstrosity, and Castiel swallows. “Will you hold my hand?” he asks, utterly serious.

Priestly is quiet beside him; Castiel can feel him thinking.

“Sure, Cas,” he says, and Castiel looks at him for a long moment.

He looks back to the coaster, and takes a great breath. “Okay,” he says, letting it woosh out.

\- -

The coaster is _exhilarating._

Priestly doesn’t hold Castiel’s hand, but that’s because Castiel latches onto his shoulder at the first big drop and doesn’t let go for the entire ride.

Castiel’s feet are wobbly on solid ground, and he hangs on to Priestly’s arm for a few moments, getting his breath back.

He lets out a belated whoop and thrusts a fist into the air, whirling to Priestly and grinning.

Priestly stares at him and his coaster-hair and his face. He laughs so hard eyeliner runs at the corner of an eye.

\- -

Priestly grins and he shouts over the noise of the carnival games. “Look, Cas!” he points to a ring-toss with old milk bottles. There are teddy bears in sock-monkey hats, pop-cap guns and other silly things in the stall. Castiel squints at the rings suspiciously, and he shakes his head.

“These things are rigged,” he says, and he’s surprised when Priestly bumps him. It makes his whole body move.

“Well, _yeah,_ Cas, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, though they don’t win anything at the ring toss. Priestly gets Castiel to laugh at how bad he is, mostly by being mock-offended.

They try another with ping-pong balls and floating dishes, and Castiel’s run through almost all the cash he has on him. He’s down to three dollars. Priestly insisted on buying most of their food earlier and the tickets to the park as well as the coaster.

Castiel feels a little bad; he really wants to win a prize, because it feels right. Something catches his eye as they wander, and a strange tingling sets up shop in his middle. “Priestly,” Castiel says, tugging at his elbow. “What about this one?”

The booth is set up for darts, and there are giant stuffed animals along the top of the stall’s interior, humorously round pigs and cows and one big black-and-yellow bumblebee. The next row has smaller prizes, more random toys and animals. There are six darts laid out on the wood, and the proprietor is this older, squat man with thick glasses, coke-bottle lenses and what Castiel believes is a perpetual scowl. He’s wearing an old sweater vest over a gray shirt with long sleeves. He sees Castiel eyeing the darts.

“Three bucks,” he says. It’s all he says.

“Cas,” Priestly says, clutching at his arm. “Cas, look.” It takes him a moment to realize Priestly’s fixated on a giant rainbow slinky, and Castiel pulls out his last folded bills and passes them over.

Priestly watches him, and Castiel thinks he maybe wanted to take a turn; he feels a growing determination and straightens his back, lowers his shoulders.

He’s going to _win._

The first dart is shy of the bullseye. The bespectacled man grunts, and Castiel doesn’t even look at him.

The second dart is further away. Castiel breathes in, and then out.

The third hits home.

Then the fourth.

The fifth knocks the third out of place, and the sixth is a hair wide, but it’s enough. Castiel looks at the proprietor expectantly, Priestly silent as the grave next to him.

The man gestures with a sarcastic curtsey at the shelves of prizes. Castiel looks longingly at the huge bee—there’s something about it—but he points to the slinky. The man retrieves it and Castiel gives him a short nod as he accepts it, turning directly to hold it out to Priestly.

Priestly’s holding his shoulder and looking at him with wide eyes, like something has finally clicked in his brain, and he looks down at the slinky then back up at Castiel.

He’s tentative about reaching out, and Castiel is gentle when he places it in his free hand. He looks at the hand on his shoulder just as Priestly drops it.

“Holy _shit,”_ he says, and then he’s talking like he can’t stop. “Dude you were in the _zone,_ it was like you were gonna burn the dartboard with your _eyes,_ this is _awesome,_ I—” he pauses, his face is flushed, and he’s still a little wide-eyed. “Thanks,” he says, and his voice and shy little smile take years off of him.

Castiel smiles, feels his own cheeks get a little warm. “It was no problem,” he says.

A moment passes, people moving around them, behind and to the sides of them, and finally the twinkling lights and noises and everything coalesce into the _atmosphere_ Priestly was talking about, complete with frankly gross smells, and Castiel wonders what’s on his face as he suddenly feels very open.

Priestly licks his lips and Castiel’s eyes follow the motion helplessly, and then Priestly is thrusting the plastic-wrapped slinky into his chest—Castiel _oofs—_ and he goes to the booth.

Castiel turns to see Priestly offer a crumpled five to the proprietor, accept his change, and take up the same set of darts Castiel used.

Castiel wonders if Priestly held his breath the way he’s now doing, watching Priestly miss the first, second, and third shots in a row until—

Priestly’s first dart is dead center but at the very top strip of the board, and the second is in the next section, and the third is in the tiny strip beneath that—Castiel stares in something like awe.

Priestly nails the darts in a straight line down to the bullseye, and Castiel thinks he might ruin it with the cocky smirk he tosses over his shoulder before his last shot, where he knocks his outer-bullseye fifth with the sixth and final dart dead center.

Castiel is tingling head to toe and the sounds around him are buzzing in his head as Priestly makes a childish grabby-hand at the big bee. The proprietor rolls his eyes incredibly hard and passes it over, and Castiel’s head is still a muzzy mess as Priestly stands before him tall and proud, round yellow bee in his hands, grinning like an idiot with his tongue in his teeth.

\- -

They’re walking back towards the entrance by mutual, silent accord, Priestly with his slinky tucked into the elbow not near Castiel, Castiel with his giant bee held in front of him with both arms because it is big and _squishy._

A little giggle had escaped him when Priestly handed it over, and he’d have thought that Priestly would laugh or smirk or something but he’d just kept grinning, ears pink under the string lights.

Castiel bumps into Priestly as they walk, and he knows Priestly knows he’s doing it on purpose, and neither of them say anything. They’re about halfway out of the park when Castiel shifts to squeeze the bee with his outside arm, and cautiously drops the other until the back of his hand brushes along Priestly’s, over the rolled sleeve and onto skin. He slides his fingers to the inside and feels Priestly shiver even as he tries to stay still, and at the last moment Castiel decides to hook his elbow around Priestly’s and tug, pull them closer.

Priestly’s steps slow, but he doesn’t miss any, and Castiel lets himself lean just a little, just to see.

Priestly doesn’t lean away or push him off; he doesn’t lean towards him either, but he supports Castiel easily. It’s all Castiel can do not to tuck his head to rest on Priestly’s shoulder.

They walk like this all the way to the car.

\- -

The ride home is quiet, or as quiet as the Nova gets, windows up due to the chill, heat rattling quietly in the vents. Castiel plays with the sleeves on the hoodie, hands on the bee in his lap. Priestly’s slinky is by his feet.

Priestly brings them to Gabriel’s condo, and walks him through the courtyard to his door. Castiel finds his keys and turns around to face Priestly, a little at a loss. He hugs his bee.

The stoop puts him just a little over eye-level with Priestly, and the fluorescent porch light makes his purple hair look strange, puts his face into sharp relief. Castiel thinks Gabriel should change it to something warmer, something that would soften the lines of Priestly’s incredibly attractive bone structure.

Castiel is hit with an intense desire to kiss Priestly on the cheek, and he stalls out (he wasn’t really moving in the first place), staring at Priestly with the intensity settling behind his eyes instead.

He wants to say something, to say anything—thank you, nice time, can I see you again—but nothing comes, and he knows he’s probably showing his fear on his face, because Priestly is going to get weirded out and he’s tolerated Castiel this far, and people generally don’t because Castiel is _different_ and—

Priestly’s _different_ too. He’s is just watching him in turn, and suddenly Castiel remembers he’d been holding his shoulder and he thinks about the roller coaster and he takes a step, just as Priestly does. It’s a half-step forward for each of them and Priestly’s moving and his hand is warm.

Castiel swears Priestly tries to grab his hand but he doesn’t hold, instead sliding along his sleeve. His fingers grasp at Castiel’s elbow, move up to the back of his arm, and kind of stay there.

Castiel doesn’t know what Priestly is doing and Priestly probably doesn’t either, because it's a start-stop that ends with them six inches closer. Castiel lets himself look at Priestly’s face, and he croaks, “Did I hurt you?”

Priestly blinks, and Castiel feels his fingers clutch at the fabric of the hoodie. Priestly drops his hand and reaches across with his right, and then he huffs. He starts to shrug out of his shirt—Castiel really should move back, give him room—and his shoulder is exposed to the harsh light and Castiel’s stomach sinks.

There’s a mottled series of odd bruises; when Priestly rotates under the light to see better they almost form an abstract handprint. It’s mostly the fingers, definitely a thumb. Castiel swallows. “I am so sorry,” he says, clutching at the soft bee helplessly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He realizes Priestly is saying his name and that he’s set his shirt to rights. “Cas, it’s okay,” he says, and he’s smiling, so that can’t be bad, right? Why is he smiling?

“Cas,” Priestly says, and now there are hands on his shoulders, and Castiel looks up and gets caught in Priestly’s eyes. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’ve got a hell of a grip, man. I’m kinda surprised I have feeling. Mighta had to amputate.” He snorts at Castiel’s ineffective glare. “If it got you through the coaster we’re good, okay?”

Castiel swallows, blinking.

“I mean it, Cas,” Priestly says, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Enough with the puppy eyes. Also: slinky. Still pretty stoked about that.” He gives Castiel a soft little grin, and Castiel’s chest loosens.

He looks down at the bee in his arms, and squeezes it. “Okay,” he says, trying not to react as Priestly’s arms drop. “Thank you, for—tonight,” he says as he looks back up.

Priestly’s gotten a little of his confidence back, it seems; he gently taps one of Castiel’s shoulders and winks, making a clicking noise with his mouth as he steps back.

“Catch you later, Cas,” he says, and Castiel raises a hand in goodbye, watching him back away a few steps before turning around and walking out of the courtyard.

\- -

Priestly’s phone is filled with missed texts.

 **Jonana:** Hey what’re your plans for later  
**Jonana:** U there  
**Jonana:** Priestly  
**Chuckles:** Got a passage I’d like to run by you + some new flash, check your email.  
**Jonana:** Dude where are you  
**Sammy:** Hey big bro, just wanted to say hey. Hope you’re doing well.

(Priestly smiles at that one, T9s out a response, short but sweet.)

 **Jonana:** I’m gonna call Bobby  
**Jonana:** Probably sat on your phone and it’s stuck in your butt

Priestly snorts, and calls Jo.

“Calm down,” he says, after the first few sentences along the lines of ‘what the hell’ and ‘are you dead.’ “Took Cas to the Boardwalk, went on the Dipper. Actually we went to the wharf first, but then we went to the Boardwalk after dark, I guess ’cause he wanted to see all the lights.”

There’s some silence, and Priestly checks the phone to see that the call’s still connected.

_“You went on a date with Cas?”_

Priestly blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “No…?” Jo doesn’t say anything for a bit, and he’s kicking himself even as his mouth opens. “Cas wanted to see the lights, dude, we wandered around and rode the Dipper even though he was scared and he won me a giant rainbow slinky that is _awesome.”_

“You went to the Boardwalk—you spent the entire day together and then went to—he won you a slinky.”

“Yes...?”

Jo sighs over the line, and Priestly kinda wants to tell her about the bee. “Dude. You took him to a carnival and he won you a prize. Did you hold hands?” The last is said kind of sweetly and Priestly finds his throat shut tight.

“Oh my god,” Jo says, and damn everything Priestly _cannot unstick his throat._ “You held hands.”

“Sam was here,” is all Priestly can think to distract her with, and he winces, squeezing his eyes shut as silence meets his ill-considered words.

It works, though. “Sam—Sam was—what? At the Boardwalk? Dude when did—why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

Priestly waits her out, and then tells her about Sammy’s visit, and then finds himself telling her about some of their talk. It’s odd; Jo’s his little sister and he tells her things he tells no one else, but he realizes that some of the things he and Sammy talked about he wants to keep between them—between himself and his little brother that he may have just found again.

Jo gets it, because she’s awesome, and she doesn’t press when he skirts around stuff.

“It was—weird,” Priestly says. “Having Sammy here. Having him back.”

“Yeah,” Jo says, pausing. She listens to him breathing over the line. “How are you?”

Priestly has to think about his answer, because the truth is he doesn’t know.

“I don’t know,” he says, “but I’m okay.” It’s also true, and it comes out soft. He knows Jo’ll keep checking on him, will demand Sammy’s number (Priestly’s pretty sure they’ll start texting up a storm) and bully him into coming back sooner than later. Him and Sam’s problems aren’t solved and it won’t be easy, but they’re taking it slow and it’s easier that he thought it’d be. Priestly’s pretty stoked that they’re even talking. Every chance he gets to talk to his little brother is a drop on the good side of Priestly’s life.

“Don’t think I forgot about your date with Cas,” Jo warns, at the end of their conversation.

Priestly groans. “I did not go on a date with Cas,” he growls, and Jo just snorts at him funny like she _knows_ something.

Priestly showers, purple water at his feet, looking at the pretty impressive bruise(es) Cas left him with. He gathers up the clothes he ditched in the hall and puts them in the washer for later, reminds himself to tell Cas not to worry about washing his borrowed threads (though Cas probably will and fold them and everything, because he’s Cas).

Priestly brushes his teeth shirtless and stares at his shoulder, thinks about Cas’ hand tight, his hair all insane after the coaster, how many times he laughed. His goofy giant bee and his face when he held it. The—the not-hand-holding. The freaky concentration at darts.

The slinky.

“I did not go on a date with Cas,” he mutters to no one, and climbs up into his bed to sleep.

 

**ALL THAT I WANT FOR YOU**

_In which we wish to be something we love and understand_

Priestly cooks even when he’s by himself.

Sometimes he’ll set up his little eee PC (inherited from Ash) for YouTube and watch cooking channels (the guy with this hilarious video on spring rolls was a favorite just for entertainment value alone), even if he’s cooking something different entirely.

Sometimes he’ll listen to a song that’s in his head and just get it out, maybe play it a couple of times, because that’s what YouTube was _for,_ especially if he isn’t signed in so no one has to know.

Sometimes, though, on certain days—people get down. It’s natural. Nothing wrong with it. Maybe they listen to sad shit and mope around.

Maybe they cook alone, using the stereo instead, Skynyrd’s _Simple Man_ playing for the fourth time and it’s the wine in the pan with the chicken and mushrooms, because Priestly likes mushrooms and he cooks them with wine and the fumes burn his nose and make his eyes sting.

_Baby, hand me the Chardonnay—add just enough to mix with the butter. Careful, it’s heavy—there you go._

Nobody lives downstairs and the old lady to his right swears she never hears him; the one to his left is beyond chill (Priestly smokes with her off and on) so the music’s a little loud, and Priestly is sometimes trying to sing along to it, or maybe trying not to.

Priestly plays somewhat somber air guitar over the steaming pan during the solo, absently wafting curls towards his face in between phrases that call for more enthusiasm. Sometimes he bites his lips and clears his throat and stirs, throwing in some basil and then more butter because mushrooms need butter.

Priestly lasts until the next refrain before he looks over at his phone, open and leaning against the toaster oven with a picture showing—he has to keep waking the phone back up without looking at it, it’s gonna get oily—and he sees a beautiful person smiling back at him, the lines of her face not remembered enough.

“Baby be a simple kind of man,” Priestly whispers, stirring rotini in an old steel pot on the back burner.

If more of the wine goes down his throat than into the pan, if his breath sometimes hitches, hard, and he has to sniffle even though it isn’t November—

Shit happens. You turn some music on and do something cathartic like cooking and you fucking cry if you have to, and you look at pictures on your phone and wish you could remember her more and be something worth it, something she would have loved.

_White wine makes them taste even better, my little man. I’ll show you._

Priestly wishes he was enough, and puts the rest of the wine in with the mushrooms instead of drinking it.

This is the gospel according to Mary Priestly.

 

**BROTHERS**

_In which we route more power to the engines_

Priestly’s phone buzzes on the desk. He fumbles to answer it on speaker as he clicks. “Sup.”

“Dean.”

He can’t help but start a little; he thought it’d be Jo. He clears his throat. “Sammy, what’s up?”

“What’re you up to?” Sam sounds like he’s lugging something and walking.

“Playing FTL and eating a potato,” Priestly says, poking at said potato with his fork left-handed and shunting more reactor juice to the shields with his right.

“Dude,” Sam says, and he’s definitely shuffling around, noises coming over the phone like static. “Did you get the soundtrack version?”

“Yep,” Priestly says, wincing as the sensors room catches fire. “All yours, Sammy, bring a drive.”

“Do you have a cold? Can I come by this afternoon?”

Priestly looks down at the phone. Sam knows he doesn't have to ask. “Uh, yeah? I mean no, and yeah.”

More shuffling, Sam’s voice a little tinny. “Want me to bring anything? You sound stuffy.”

Priestly clears his throat again as quietly as he can; his eyes are probably puffy. He takes a mental peek in his fridge and cupboards. “Corn on the cob and chicken sound good to you?” He chooses not to acknowledge anything else and sets the Artemis missiles to autofire at the pirate’s stupid cloaking system.

“Dude, anything you make is fine.”

“Yeah, that’s right, bite space dust. Hey, bring milk!” Priestly sends his pixelated crew to handle the fires.

“All right, see you in a bit.”

The onscreen situation mostly handled, Priestly looks at the phone’s tiny one, darkened in inactivity. “You cool, Sammy?”

“I’m good!” Sam says, and he sounds it. He sounds _happy._ Priestly thinks he hears a car door slam, just a thump through the line, but there’s a creak right before that makes him stare at the phone hard.

“Sam…?”

“See you in half an hour, Dean!” And Sam hangs up.

 

**BABY**

_In which we travel over the hills and far away_

There are things Priestly will never forget whether he wants to or not. The taste of Mom’s pie, to this day; a particular grunt of Bobby’s that says fool-boy-you’re-lucky-I-love-you-even-though-you-been-dropped-on-your-head-a-time-too-many; Sammy’s voice at six, at eight, at fourteen.

Another is perhaps best described as a collection of sounds: low, loud, subtle, then not. Old, strong, and sounding of home.

He hears her from far down the road, a thought at the back of his mind, a figment coalescing into something more real. Something builds from the bottoms of his everything, his feet and stomach and palms, tingling and heavy. Sound out of sight but making his steps take him to the edge of the sidewalk, his heart starting to trip in his chest as his toes try to grip the curb through his shoes so he won’t fall over, leaning.

Her voice is beautiful and pure, building and unmistakable, and a shiver takes over the whole of Priestly’s skin.

When her glossy black body rounds the corner, Sam’s smiling floppy head behind the wheel, Priestly’s knees go a little weak and her song lifts his spirit to soar.

“Hey sweetheart,” he whispers, gazing as she pulls up into a space, black and chrome. “Hey, Baby.”

\- -

Sammy’s out-and-out grinning when he steps out of the Impala, the same old creak and slam of her door making Priestly’s eyes sting a little. Sam seems to fade back, to let Priestly have his moment, and maybe Priestly’s blinking a lot. It’s hot and she’s so _shiny._

“How’s my baby girl?” Priestly says, his voice rough and uneven. His hand hovers over her skin, unsteady, warmth rising and curling under his palm. He waits for permission, for acceptance, and she is simply there, patient, steady.

He touches her.

Just like that, his whole body stops shaking, something in him settling down to his bones. He breathes out, blinks and swallows and finally turns on his brother in disbelief. “You went home,” he says, voice unexpectedly croaky, and for a second Sammy looks a little unsure. Priestly has to swallow again.

“You brought her back,” he says, and Sam relaxes.

His big little brother holds up an achingly familiar keyring. “I forgot the milk.” His smirk is something else Priestly realizes he remembers very well.

“I’ll drive,” he breathes.

\- -

Windows down, cool late-spring air.

 _Houses of the Holy_ in the tape deck.

Sammy riding shotgun, the Impala rumbling underneath them both.

Priestly smiles, something small and secret.

\- -

Halfway through the album, Dean's phone buzzes on the bench between them. He'd taken it out of his pocket—"Don't want it digging into Baby's vinyl," he'd said. Sam glances down at it, wouldn't think anything of it except for how Dean reacts.

His eyes flick from the road to the phone and then up to Sam.

In the next moment Dean's palm slaps the seat, but the phone’s already in Sam's hand.

"You have freakishly long arms," Dean mutters. He has a text.

“You should get a new phone,” Sam says. "This thing’s older than—'Your boyfriend is here,'" he reads aloud. He shoots a question over with his eyebrows, and Dean is resolutely not looking at him. "Dean?"

"What," Dean says, gruffly enough that Sam’s somewhat taken aback.

"...you have a boyfriend?" he says haltingly, unsure if he’s allowed to ask about these things.

"What? No! Sammy gimme my damn phone." Dean snaps and it’s like he never left. Something in his tone makes Sam want to grin, though he thinks Dean'd take that pretty poorly.

"So..." Sam says, and predictably Dean just growls. "Dean," he says.

Dean rolls his eyes. "I don't have a—a _boyfriend,_ Sam, jesus," he says, and something in his voice makes Sam _listen_. "Is that from Jo or Ruby?"

Sam looks. "Jo."

Dean sort of sighs, sort of grunts. "I guess Cas is at the shop," he says. "Cas is _not_ —I don't—he's a regular. At the shop."

Sam feels a smile that he tries to squash. Dean’s eyes keep rabbiting from him to the road and back. "Okay," he says. "So...Jo's just giving you crap."

"Yeah," Dean says on an exhalation, and Sam carefully keeps his face neutral. His little-brother-senses scent something in the water, but he doesn't press. He'll eventually get to meet this Cas and see what it is that makes his brother act weird. Boyfriend or not, it'll be interesting.

“Thanks for keeping the tapes,” Dean says. Sam memorizes Jo’s number as they pull off for the store.

“Dad did,” is all he says, and Dean doesn’t say anything.

\- -

Sam rides with Dean back to his apartment to drop off the milk, and Dean insists (without saying anything, just using his typical grunts and gestures) that Sam take the Impala so he won’t be without wheels while he hops in his old Nova.

If he thinks Sam isn't going to follow him to the shop, he’s blind; still Sam tells him he has to run home to Skype with Jess.

"You can just call her like a normal person," Dean says, and Sam just smiles and shrugs. He _will_ Skype with Jess later, since she’s at her parents' place for the break and supported him spending time with Dean. Sam isn’t going to drive the thirty-odd minutes back to Stanford just yet, though after the day-and-night haul from Kansas he’s not too fazed about it anymore.

"Catch you later, Sammy," Dean says as he shuts the passenger door, looking wistfully along the Impala's body and then at Sam in the driver's seat. Sam just gives him a little grin.

"You're all right, for an annoying little brother," Dean says gruffly, and Sam feels a full smile crack his face. He’s probably getting a little red in the cheeks, but he doesn’t care.

"See you later, Dean," he says, and Dean waves him off, watches him all the way down to the street.

\- -

Strawberry, maybe.

Thick. Very, very pink.

Two straws.

"This is the gayest shake I've ever had, Cas," Priestly says. Castiel is seated next to him at the bar, having demolished what looks like a chicken ranch. Priestly steals another fry from the pile Castiel is still working on.

Castiel watches Priestly's mouth as he eats the fry. He continues to eat it without shame; Castiel has watched the last four fries end this way. "Trust me," Castiel says, "and please stop eating my fries."

Priestly grins. "Stop me," he says, and Jo clears her throat.

Priestly blinks and straightens, apparently not having realized he'd leaned into Castiel's space. Castiel narrows his eyes, and Priestly says "Don't you squint at me" around the fry.

Castiel leans forward and puts his lips to the nearer straw, sucking some of the shake into his mouth and glaring at Priestly like a dare.

Priestly narrows his eyes and waits until Castiel moves off before leaning down, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s, about to put his own lips to his straw. Castiel might be staring.

The bell jingles and someone calls out as they enter, a boisterous "Dean!"

Priestly and Castiel both jump, Priestly leaning away from the shake and looking caught. Castiel looks over his shoulder and sees a very tall person in a purple shirt and cargo shorts. The sandals, hair and generally youthful face make him think _student_.

"Hey, Sammy," Priestly says, swallowing. Castiel turns back to him, brows coming down over his eyes.

Priestly's eyes flick to Castiel, and he doesn’t say anything for a moment, licking his lips. Castiel starts to turn back to 'Sammy' and Priestly clears his throat.

"Sam, this...is Cas," Priestly says, and Sammy (Sam?) looks at Castiel without moving his head. He is attractive and will clearly mature into a handsome man, given time. The shape of his eyes is very pleasing, and his hair is a little messy. He has almost-visible dimples and there’s something about him that makes Castiel really _look._

"So..." Priestly's voice makes Sam blink, and while Castiel does not, he breaks their gaze to glance back at Priestly. He’s looking at them both oddly. "Sam, Cas. Cas, this is my little brother, Sammy."

Sam looks back at Castiel, who is processing _brother_ (he now knows Jo is not a blood relation, but he believes this Sam is) _,_ and after another moment—one in which Castiel realizes Sam has been studying him just as closely—he sticks out his hand. He’s quite large.

Castiel looks down at Sam's hand, and then cautiously takes it.

Sam's face breaks into a boyish grin, dimples and all, and he shakes a couple of times before dropping their grip. "Nice to meet you, Cas. I'm guessing Castiel?"

Priestly makes some kind of noise, and Castiel ignores him. "Sam," he says, "pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Sam says, his eyes easy and friendly but clearly very smart; Castiel is certain he’s being evaluated. Priestly (Castiel’s going to investigate the 'Dean' later) is glaring at Jo—that might explain how Sam knows his name.

Jo comes from the back and makes a noise when she sees Sam, and there’s considerable hugging. Sam lifts her off her feet and she squeals; when he puts her down her face is red and happy.

Priestly slaps his knuckles against the back of Sam’s arm when he sits at the nearest barstool. “Dude I shoulda heard you coming a mile away.”

“Parked and walked,” Sam says. He’s quirking an eyebrow at the pink shake between them.

"Shut up," Priestly mutters, drawing it closer defensively. “Your hair is ridiculous.” Sam gives an incredulous snort at this, and Castiel pointedly raises an eyebrow at the hound on his purple shirt while Priestly slurps through the straw. “Oh my god,” he says, moving his tongue around in his mouth. “What _is_ this,” he says, and goes back for another taste.

Castiel deliberately leans forward and closes his lips over other straw, innocently looking at Sam while taking a drink. Priestly suddenly sucks too loud, his eyes falling right to Castiel’s mouth. He can feel them there.

Priestly abruptly pulls back and swallows, and Castiel watches his ears go red. He glances nervously at Jo at the bar and then over at Sam, everywhere but Castiel. Sam is wearing a _‘really?’_ expression that is quickly answered by something gleefully ruefulon Jo’s face.

Castiel gives Jo a serene smile with his eyes, as his mouth is occupied.

 

**E1M1**

_In which we take an arrow to the knee_

“No, but—it’s the _heart,_ man, you can’t—” water-noises come from behind him, “—you can’t tell me that people still playing Doom _twenty years later_ are wrong.”

Chuck blows smoke out at the steamed mirror with great patience, watching the exhaust fan suck it up and out.

Chuck hadn’t had a purpose when he came over, but it definitely wasn’t supposed to be debating classic versus contemporary gaming over a shared joint while Priestly cooks himself in the tub with minimal bubbles to provide modesty, and in truth Priestly’s hogging the joint. Chuck’s sitting on the closed toilet so he really can’t blame Priestly for taking advantage of his proximity.

The mirror’s fucked with steam and Chuck has this thing where he can’t just let Priestly be wrong. This means he’s got only one eye made up and the other’s got half a line underneath it and there aren’t enough goddamn bubbles for this conversation. “I’m just saying that they don’t need to remake something twenty years old, okay.”

“It’s an _homage,_ dude—I mean Fallout series, _hello—_ ”

“There’s nothing wrong with making something new, something that breaks actual ground—would you give me the damn—thanks—it’s—” Chuck inhales deeply, closing his eyes and holding it in while reaching back out to make a blind pass to Priestly. He lets everything out really slow, and hears Priestly taking his own drag.

“It’s just that there’s amazing shit coming in the next few years and they’re rehashing—dude, _BioShock_ is an homage, but it’s—it’s groundbreaking, man—”

“It’s _System Shock 2_ underwater, Chuck!”

 _“You’re_ underwater, it’s a _spiritual successor,_ pass me the goddamn joint and take that back because you know better.” Chuck takes the proffered joint and puts it to his lips. Priestly sighs. “Don’t breathe at me. I’m offended and not speaking to you right now,” Chuck says around smoke.

The musky-sweet smell of the weed hangs in the bathroom even though Priestly’s baby box fan is on low trying to help push the smoke up and out the exhaust vent that’s on full blast. Chuck takes a last drag before risking a look over his shoulder and offering it to Priestly one more time. Priestly’s got his eyes closed and he’s leaning all the way back, his arms along the edge of the tub, so Chuck flicks his finger against the closest one.

“M’good,” Priestly mumbles. “Thanks.”

Chuck dips the end of the joint into an empty toilet paper roll and gently crushes it out, taking out his old cigarette case and laying what’s left next to a fresh-rolled one and a used roach. “Wanna go to the Roadhouse?” he says, looking back again just in case Priestly’s fallen asleep, but Priestly’s watching him.

“Sure,” he says, lids heavy, and Chuck wonders if he’s going to doze.

“You gonna drown if I leave you alone?”

Priestly closes his eyes and settles in the water, paltry bubbles not hiding anything anymore as he sinks a little lower. “Mm,” he says, “nah. I’ll get out in a sec. Gonna get hungry.”

Chuck grunts and stands up. “Kay. I’m gonna wipe the mirror.”

Priestly hums and soaks and Chuck wipes away enough of the steam on one of the doors to kind of see by. He gets his eyes done and pockets the pencil and his cigarette case. He tells Priestly he’ll wait in the living room so they can walk to the Roadhouse.

“Dude text Cas!”

Chuck stops in the hallway. “What?”

“Invite him.”

Chuck ducks his head back into the bathroom but keeps his eyes high. “You realize I don’t have his number.”

“Use my phone, he put in in there.”

Chuck goes back into the living room and fails to find Priestly’s phone; he sighs and goes back to stare at the bathroom ceiling.

“Where’s your phone.”

“Beanbag. Bedroom.”

Chuck frowns. “What does that even _mean,”_ he says to himself. Priestly doesn’t have a beanbag.

He spots the phone on Priestly’s desk on what is in fact a polka-dotted miniature beanbag (red, yellow spots), and he squeezes it gently with his free hand while scrolling to find Cas. There he is, under _Castiel._ There’s no text history.

 **Me:** This is Chuck. Priestly and I formally invite you to the Roadhouse for food and drinks. We’re walking in a bit.

Chuck brings the phone with him to the living room and gets his shoes on, listening to Priestly start up a shower as the tub glugs and drains. The phone buzzes in his hand.

 **Castiel:** Hello Chuck. I’m afraid I would need a ride.  
**Castiel:** I’ve never gone to the road house using public transit before.

“Hey!” Chuck calls. “Cas needs a ride!”

“What?”

Chuck sighs and goes back to the bathroom.

\- -

Priestly may have certain feelings about Ruby, but she comes through and is willing to grab Cas on her way in to the Roadhouse. He buys her her favorite chili fries.

The Roadhouse is pretty packed, Jo’s hands full at the bar and Ellen bringing food to the counters so a stream of her waitstaff can send them out to the tables. Between Ruby, Chuck, Cas and himself, they keep Ellen and her crew busy in the kitchen. Priestly hides in the booth because Ellen can always tell when he’s high, and he’s a little paranoid that she’ll know anyway even though they always order a ton of her food because Roadhouse grub is awesome.

Cas gets hooked on the sweet tea and he puts away one of Ellen’s burgers (apparently she made him one special) while Ruby shares some sliders with Chuck and Priestly eats his weight in just about everything. Cas and Chuck get into talking about his writing, while Ruby flips through his binder with greasy fingers (Chuck offers protests while she reasonably points out that all the pages are encased in plastic). Chuck shows off some of his new flash art, designs evolving from one side of the page to the other, and Priestly eyes a few. (“That one looks kinda tacky. I think I want it.”)

Chuck and Ruby go shot-for-shot and invite Cas but he sticks to the tea. Priestly wonders if he doesn’t drink. Cas kind of stares at how much Chuck and Ruby put away, and Priestly feels a little self-conscious for the empties he’s got in front of him, brown glass twinkling dully in the lights.

Ruby’s sprawled out in the back of the round bench, asking embarrassing questions. Since Cas doesn’t have tact to speak of it sort of backfires on her, and Priestly can’t remember what the last one was or even what Cas said but Ruby’s face makes him start laughing and he can’t seem to stop; he’s still fighting with giggles when Ruby leans forward conspiratorially. "Priestly cries when he watches Finding Nemo."

"All right, moving on," Priestly says loudly, wiping at his eyes. “I’m secure in my masculinity. And don’t get any ideas about movie night, the place is a mess.” He pushes some of her shot glasses out of his space.

“I gotta work tomorrow,” Ruby says, “so your masculinity is in good hands tonight.” She’s looking at Cas when she says it which doesn’t make any sense, and Cas is suddenly giving off weird vibes next to him. Priestly turns to see if he has to pee or something when Jo breezes by, tray piled with glasses.

“Macho man,” she calls, “tell him about the time you touched Chuck’s balls.”

Cas blinks, Ruby snorts, and Chuck sighs.

Cas is looking at him funny.

Priestly shrugs. "I touched Chuck's balls once.”

Ruby starts giggling and Cas does his staring thing.

“Okay, set it up—you were like, what, this was at your old shop—”

“Yeah, the shitty one with the bad heat and electrical—”

“Dude that place was a _fire hazard,_ so you were at your—your weird desk—”

“It’s a standing desk,” Chuck says. “For keeping me focused while balancing how much time I spent at the computer.”

Ruby snorts. “Right. Because that worked.”

“I wrote three of the books at that shitty shop,” Chuck says.

Priestly clears his throat. “So. Fire hazard. What were we…?” Chuck makes a rolling motion with his hand that gives absolutely no context but Priestly picks it up anyway. “Right. You were working like crazy late—you’d just given me a new tat—which one was it, Chuck?”

Cas is helplessly looking between them all as they trade off bits of the story, and Priestly doesn’t know if any of it is making sense. It’s a funny story, it really _is,_ he just—Cas isn’t following it or maybe Priestly’s too drunk to tell it right.

“I was really into this manuscript, and it was like three in the morning. He’d gotten some new ink and we were both tired and wired and—”

“And he was pissy as shit, there’d been like a brownout and he was trying to do something and the computer wasn’t working right and I was like, high on the pain and—what did I say, something like ‘walk away, Chuck,’ or whatever—”

“It was really stressful,” Chuck says, playing with a shot glass and trying not to smile.

“So I just—I came up behind him and like—” he tries to illustrate the little underhand knuckle-tap he gave to the back of Chuck’s shorts, and he doesn’t know if it comes across but Chuck starts laughing and Ruby’s just rolling her eyes. Priestly remembers how Chuck squeaked and jumped and he’s laughing too and Cas is looking at them all like they’re crazy.

“He just like _jumps_ and knocks over his coffee and it lands on this rat’s nest of—it’s like right on the power strip thing—”

“Boom,” Chuck says sadly.

“—yeah, _crack_ like in the movies, Cas, this big ol’ spark and all the lights went out and the frigging strip starts smoking and Chuck’s like screaming like a girl—”

“All because you touched Chuck’s balls,” Ruby says, leaning back in the booth and making the vinyl creak.

"It was pretty effective," Chuck muses.

Priestly grins at his friends, feeling pretty full of _bonhomie_ until he looks over at Cas. Cas is doing the staring thing but he’s kind of squinting too, like he does, his mouth a little open like when he thinks and Priestly can see that his teeth are pretty white.

“What does this have to do with your masculinity?” Cas asks, and Priestly’s mind goes a little fuzzy. Ruby cackles—it wasn’t funny, what’s she even—and Chuck just sort of eyeballs them both.

“I honestly have no idea,” Chuck says.

“I’m pretty sure it was the balls thing,” Ruby says, “though I don’t know that there was a point to that story.”

“Whatever,” Priestly says, stretching a little in his seat. He’s not as young as he used to be, that’s for damn sure.

“I’d argue the point that touching another man’s genitalia has nothing to do with one’s masculinity,” Cas says, and never mind his vocabulary, his delivery is fucking loaded. Priestly tries to side-eye him and ends up staring full-on becauses subtle isn’t really his thing _sober._ He glances to Chuck and Ruby but they’re both looking at him, like he’s supposed to follow that with something.

He blinks and looks back at Cas, and abruptly feels something loosen in his shoulders. “I have no idea what to say to that, Cas,” he says, and slaps him on the shoulder like it’s punctuation. “You done eating?”

Cas looks at his plate, thoroughly clean, and over at Ruby’s leftover chili sludge. He makes a face. “I think so,” he says, sipping his tea.

“Thanks for joining us, Cas,” Chuck says, and Castiel licks tea off his lips and nods.

“I appreciate the invite,” he says, in his growly little voice, and Priestly has to wonder why he sounds like that all the time, watching Cas clean his mouth with a napkin, idly running his fingers over his last beer bottle, gone warm.

Ruby snaps her fingers, and Priestly starts.

“Darts?” she says, her tone saying full well she knows they’re all too gone to throw pointy shit in a crowded room.

“Not without me you don’t,” Jo says, and Priestly cranks his head the other way. Jo’s got a round tray and she’s collecting their many empties.

“Hey Jo!” Priestly says, and she rolls her eyes affectionately. “Cas you should see Jo at darts, man, she kicks _ass.”_

Jo winks at Cas. “Better than he does,” she says, and Priestly feels Cas straighten beside him. “Even when he’s not drunk.”

Priestly’s about to protest that (the drunk part, because Jo _can_ kick his ass at darts stone-cold sober) when Cas says to Jo, “I’m not sure I believe you,” all serious and shit, and his voice is _deep._ Priestly’s sure he noticed that before. He doesn’t know why he’s so stuck on it now, and when Jo just winks again and swans off with the tray Priestly turns back to Cas.

Cas is looking at him over his tea, fingers on the rim of the glass, and Priestly looks at them, at the ice melting and shining. Cas’ fingernails are trimmed all neat, and his fingers are long—Priestly remembers them and how they fitted around the body of a dart, one after another. He thinks about pool, about Cas holding a cue, Cas leaned over a table.

Ruby’s staring—he can feel it—and she’s not quiet when she says to Chuck, “Are you seeing this?”

“Yes,” Chuck says, and Priestly wants to look at them or say something but he can feel Cas’ eyes too, they’re on his but his are on Cas’ mouth and he can’t seem to move them. Everything’s lazy and shiny and he doesn’t want to go anywhere.

“So is this our cue to book it?” Ruby says, and Priestly tears his eyes away from Cas to see Chuck and Ruby both just—

“What?” Priestly says, maybe a little belligerently, because Chuck goes all wide-eyed and holds up his hands.

Ruby has no problems meeting his eyes. “I’ll take Chuck home,” she says, and Priestly’s mother-hen mode clicks on, drunk or not.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, “you’re not driving a bicycle. Go get Ellen to call you guys a cab.” He ducks his head and makes Chuck look at him, raising his brows.

“We’ll get rides,” Chuck says, and Priestly nods, satisfied.

“Thanks for the fries, mom,” Ruby says, and Priestly makes an unflattering noise with his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for bringing Cas. Get thee outta here, demon,” he mutters, shooing Ruby away from his jacket where it’s crumpled next to her; somehow it got shoved on the other side of Cas and it’s technically Cas that needs to move. “Lemme get my stuff.” Chuck is shuffling out of the booth already, probably to go square up their drinks with Ellen.

“Are you okay to drive?” Cas says, tone very clearly stating his opinion on the matter. Priestly looks at the bottles in front of him and back at Cas. Cas drank a shitton of Ellen’s sweet tea, and he’s had to pee like eight times (Priestly kept having to get up and he remembers the sound of Cas’ jeans sliding by his really clearly). He forgets Cas asked him something until Cas’ fingers hold up keys— _his_ keys. Priestly didn’t even feel him lift ’em.

“We walked here,” Priestly says. “You good to handle the Nova?” he says, trying to listen to his own voice to see if he sounds tipsy. He’s still feeling the weed from earlier. “We can walk to my place and you can take her home—maybe you can come get me in the morning or whenever.” Priestly’s driven before when he shouldn’t have and he very much knows he shouldn’t now.

“I’d offer you my couch but it’s across town,” Cas says, and Cas is a pretty all-right guy. He always looks so _sincere_ with his big blue eyes all...big and blue like that. “Up to you.”

Ruby gives this big ol’ sigh as she slides out of the booth after Chuck. Priestly rolls his eyes and doesn’t get that dizzy, but he knows when he shouldn’t drive, so Cas is gonna have to borrow the car and that’s fine with him.

“Walk with me to mine?” he says when it’s just them on one side of the booth, wondering why his voice pitches the way it does. He knows he’s looking at Cas from under his lashes and he doesn’t do that, except when he’s talking to girls, but he hasn’t—he doesn’t—not really. Not in a long time. “Keep her for a bit, have fun having a car. Take her over when you come to the shop on—you coming Monday right? First day!”

Priestly reaches across the table to clap Cas on the shoulder—he feels kind of stupid because he thinks he’s done that a bunch of times already—but Bobby’d agreed to take Cas on for a part-time and trial basis. Bobby’s gonna love Cas because Cas is smart. Bobby’ll see. Cas is _awesome._

Cas gently pushes at his arm and Priestly realizes he’s leaning a little close, because his jacket’s still over there and Cas is in the way but they need to get up which means Priestly needs to face the _other_ way. He turns and slides and stands, finding his sea-legs, and Cas hands him his jacket.

Priestly and Cas make their way through the crowd (it’s thinner now—is it late?) and up to the bar where Ash is at the register.

“You boys have a good time tonight?” he says, and Priestly just kind of blinks at him.

“Yes,” Cas says. Priestly can almost feel his voice. “The food was amazing as always. My compliments.”

Ash gives a little bow and accepts Cas’ card, and Priestly jumps because he was gonna pay—he digs in the pockets of his jacket, draped over his arm.

His wallet isn’t in there, and it’s not because he’s drunk that he can’t find it.

“Cas, where’s m—”

He stops because Cas is holding it, and he’s got his driver’s license out and he’s turning it over and back like that’s something you do, looking at Priestly’s picture where he looks about twelve and had stupid hair and next to that is his name, under the big _KANSAS_ on top—

“Why don’t you go by Dean?” Cas asks, all innocent but sincere curiosity as he takes his receipt from Ash and keeps looking at the license.

Priestly feels a nasty mix of sobriety and queasiness. He didn’t drink enough to be sick and he drank enough not to be sober but it’s an unwelcome shot of clarity that puts a lot of things into abrupt focus and he doesn’t want to see any of them right now. He wants to take his wallet from Cas but he feels like he’d be too rough so he just starts moving instead, feeling Cas’ surprise as he brushes by him.

“I’m ready to go home,” he says as he pushes by him towards the door.

\- -

Priestly leans against Castiel as they walk. Castiel didn’t think him quite that inebriated; it’s possible he’s playing it up a little, but he wouldn’t bet on it. Not after Priestly’s strange behavior leaving the Roadhouse.

He’d been quiet when Castiel had joined him outside, jacket on and hands stuffed in the front pockets. He was looking at his feet, hair dark under the sodium streetlights.

Castiel had very clearly used his chosen name when he approached, and Priestly looked up at him like this lost little boy and Castiel didn’t have the willpower to let it be.

He’d taken Priestly’s arm and gently tugged it from the pocket, placing his wallet—license back in place—into his palm, and Priestly had looked at Castiel’s fingers on his arm rather than the wallet, fingers idly playing along the worn leather edges.

Priestly slides the wallet into his jacket, not saying anything. Castiel doesn’t have anything to say himself, so he links their arms and tugs; Priestly follows obediently.

Castiel doesn’t like the feeling that Priestly thinks he’s somehow in the wrong; he can almost sense the apology Priestly isn’t saying, like the impulse to do so comes and goes with every few circles of amber light.

Castiel lets himself support Priestly, though it feels like he’s being dishonest. He thinks Priestly might be doing this because he feels badly for how he reacted, and that Castiel wants this kind of closeness and therefore he’s offering it up in his alcohol-infused logic and Castiel’s thoughts begin to run away from him.

He gently drops Priestly’s arm and takes a small step to the side. Priestly stumbles only a little, and Castiel believes it’s surprise more than anything else.

Castiel keeps walking so Priestly must do the same to keep up, though they aren’t moving fast by any means.

“Are you mad at me, Cas?” Priestly says, and he says it while looking at Castiel, not at his shoes or the street, so Castiel gives him an answer.

“No,” he says, fighting the impulse to take his hand. “I’m confused.”

He leaves it there, rather heavily, and Priestly walks along beside him in silence for a while.

“D’you know you’re ‘sposed to change your license in like ten days or whatever if you move outta state?” Priestly says, kicking at gravel but maintaining a steady gait. “I mean, if you move here. From somewhere else. I never did.”

Castiel lets the silence fall again, for a while. He’s not sure what he wants to say or what he wants Priestly to say. What he wants to hear.

“I did know that,” he says eventually, as they pass underneath another amber pool of light. He thinks he can hear moths against the glass, far above. “I came here from Illinois, originally.”

“M’from Kansas,” Priestly says, and the way he says it keeps Castiel waiting; he knows Castiel read his license. “Lawrence.” Priestly kicks little rocks; Castiel walks beside him. Another length of shadow, another amber pool.

“Left home when I was eighteen. I, uh.” Priestly clears his throat; his voice gone a little rough. Castiel allows himself to walk a little closer. “Left home, left—Sammy.”

Priestly weaves a little, and Castiel watches his feet. “Had this big ugly falling-out with my dad. Been coming for years but—didn’t really know how bad it was till I lost it. I’d—I came home with my first tattoo—” he jerks a hand roughly at his neck, “—this one, and Dad just blew up, and he wasn’t wrong, I mean, I was friggin’ eighteen, this dumb kid who did this stupid thing outta rebellion or whatever and he—”

Priestly coughs, and Castiel gives a little, shuffles closer and lets Priestly bump into him now and then. “He was _right,_ is the thing,” Priestly says. “It was the way we fought that you just...don’t come back from. He wasn’t right about—” Priestly kind of coughs again, and Castiel hears the hitch in his breath and just grabs his elbow, hooks him in. “He wasn’t right about me.”

Priestly lets Castiel walk with him, and he doesn’t make any noises or sniffle. Castiel can see the silvery track down the near side of his face clear enough. “Dad was different after Mom was gone, and the shit of it was—like, Cas, he tried so _hard_ but I missed it when he was soft, and when I was little I’d soak it up but when I got older I fucking pushed him away, I fought and—and Sammy—”

Priestly leans hard, and Castiel doesn’t think he means to. He has to clutch a little at his torso and he feels the wave break.

“Now Sammy’s back, an’ I—” Prestly’s breath hitches, and his face crumples. “I _miss my dad,_ Cas.”

Castiel stops them and pulls Priestly to him. Priestly fights at first, just tall enough that Cas tugs him down a little, and when Priestly lets himself fall he kicks one of Castiel’s shoes. Castiel can feel his hand snatching at the back of his coat, fingers gripping and loosening, and he lays his own over Priestly’s shoulders. It seems to slide on its own to the back of his neck, the soft hair there. The tail of the mohawk isn’t stiff and it has a tiny curl to it, and Castiel slides it between two fingers just as Priestly pushes away.

“M’sorry,” he says, sniffling, swiping at his mouth and his face. He turns unsteadily and starts walking again and Castiel jumps a little to catch up, but Priestly doesn’t go far.

He stalls out under the next streetlight, and Castiel comes up level with him, takes the risk and reaches out. He puts his palm on Priestly’s shoulder, the same one he bruised, meets his eyes when Priestly turns his head.

“I am familiar with absent fathers,” Castiel says softly, trying for supportive when the unshed tears in Priestly’s eyes are sinking tiny little blades into his chest and making his throat go tight.

Priestly opens his mouth and closes it, breathing a little hard, but it’s clear his control is a hard-won and familiar thing. _“I_ left, Cas.”

Castiel squeezes. “Priestly—”

“I left my little brother behind, man,” Priestly says, breaking their eye contact and wiping his cheeks off again. He doesn’t move away, letting Castiel keep his hand on him. He clears his throat, voice croaky. “Jo’d come to California to get away from her mom,” he says, looking off at nothing. “Ellen followed her eventually. They worked it out. They still fight but—” He swallows, and looks down. “They’re family.”

“I ran here, maybe because it’s where Jo was. Hell, even Bobby—he’s from South Dakota, and we all just ended up here. Sammy wanted to go to Stanford for law, he’d been making noises barely even in high school, and he—fuck, man, he got into it with Dad a lot too but he was—he was more like Dad and so when he tried to be like his big brother…” Priestly sniffed, swallowed. He blinked and didn’t say anything for a while.

“I knew when Sammy came here for college because Bobby told me. I didn’t call him. I think part of me hoped Dad’d come down just to—I dunno. To reach out maybe, to see Sam. But I knew he’d never leave home and if there’s one bastard on this earth more stubborn than me—” he scratches the back of his neck, dislodging Castiel’s arm. “It’s either him or Sammy.”

“You’ve stayed here,” Castiel says. Priestly doesn’t need to nod or say that he’s been in this shell for a long time. Castiel can see the cracks tonight, and he has to wonder if Sam wielded the tiniest, gentlest hammer.

He can see something through those cracks, something shining and bright and beautiful, and Castiel feels selfish. He wants. Priestly is riddled with guilt that isn’t entirely his, but he takes it on and it weighs him down. He bears it because he feels he must, and he’s standing here in pain and Castiel _wants._

He reaches out again and strokes along Priestly’s arm, and Priestly gives this kind of sigh and leans into it. He goes too far and Castiel moves to catch him, steadies him with a hand on his stomach. He shouldn’t stroke with his thumb but he does, moving the fabric of Priestly’s shirt.

Priestly’s hand comes up to touch Castiel’s wrist, light, and Castiel moves a little closer, trying to be supportive without crowding Priestly or frightening him off.

“You’re something else, Cas,” Priestly says to their hands, and Castiel looks down at them too, so Priestly can feel free to look back up without the risk of meeting his eyes. Castiel knows he did the right thing because Priestly looks at his face almost immediately.

“I hope that’s a good thing,” Castiel says eventually, after Priestly’s gazed at him a while.

“You push me,” Priestly says, and Castiel has to look up at that, their eyes latching together. “I dunno how to deal with it and it kinda scares me.”

Castiel feels his brows draw close and he hates that he never knows the right things to say. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he says, maybe a little desperately. He doesn’t know how to channel emotions well; they just kind of happen and they’re usually so reserved as to be undetectable; when he can’t hold them back they’re too much.

Priestly blinks at him and opens his mouth. “You don’t, Cas,” he says, and Castiel swallows because Priestly’s touching his wrist, his thumb mimicking the motions of Castiel’s and Priestly may or may not know it.

Castiel abruptly loses his courage and drops his hand, tugging at Priestly’s arm. He looks everywhere but at Priestly’s too-open face.

“Let’s get you home,” he says, gruffly, pulling Priestly behind him.

He doesn’t realize he’s got his hand until the next light, but Priestly’s following him gamely. He doesn’t let go.

\- -

Castiel uses Priestly’s keys to unlock his apartment. Priestly had told him to take the car and go home as the complex hove into sight; Castiel had just grunted and followed him down the sidewalk to his stairs. Priestly went up slowly and very carefully, Castiel behind him with a hand on the small of his back.

Castiel worries about him climbing the bed, watching him shuck his shoes and pieces of clothing as he shuffles to the hallway. Priestly says he wants a shower but the alcohol and emotional crash make Castiel strongly suggest he do it in the morning unless he wants Castiel to shower with him.

Priestly gives a pathetic kind of laugh and says that Castiel’s lines suck, but he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Castiel has to hit the lightswitch for the bedroom because while Priestly can apparently navigate his home in the dark whilst inebriated, he cannot.

The light reveals Priestly leaning against the ladder-end of the bed in just a tee and underwear, small briefs that are a beautiful dark teal. Castiel firmly raises his eyes as Priestly asks for water, his voice rough. His shoulders are broad under the soft gray fabric and that makes him somehow more vulnerable.

Castiel finds one of the plastic liter bottles Priestly favors and fills it at the ceramic crock in the living room, hurrying back to find Priestly in the same spot.

Castiel feels a sad smile move over his face; Priestly’s probably exactly the kind of person his brothers would warn him against falling for but Castiel well knows it’s already too late. He offers the water to Priestly, expecting that he’ll drink most of it and then need a refill. Instead, Priestly screws the lid on tighter and chucks it into the air, startling Castiel until he sees it go over the railing to land somewhere on the bed. Castiel has to step back or end up with Priestly’s butt in his face as he climbs laboriously after it.

Castiel blinks, hearing Priestly shuffle and flop, and he looks around himself at Priestly’s bedroom. The papasan has piles of clothes in it (this seems to be a semi-permanent state) and Castiel inhales when he sees something pink.

He doesn’t touch them, though he wants to; they’re small in terms of fabric but sized for someone who isn’t Jo. They’re simple enough, briefs with a bikini-style double strap. Subtle and—and that’s what Priestly was wearing. These are what Priestly sometimes wears.

Castiel looks at the underwear, and then at a pair of simple black boxer briefs in the same pile.

Priestly is a man of many colors. Castiel wonders which are shields to ward off that without, and which are armor unseen that hide something within; maybe even from the man wearing them.

“Cas?”

Priestly’s voice is sleep-rough and tired, and he sounds like he doesn’t know if Castiel is still there.

“I’m here,” Castiel says, thinking of the sheets in the bathroom linen closet and the couch.

He sheds his coat and lays it on the papasan, followed by his button-down. He tucks his boots under the wooden frame and toes off his socks, dancing a little and wincing when he thumps before he remembers no one is downstairs.

“You gonna stay?” Priestly says eventually, a little clearer, a little more awake.

Castiel drops his jeans, kicking them away from the bed. “Can I come up?”

There’s a long but unhurried pause, and Castiel imagines he can hear Priestly breathing.

Shuffling precedes feet and an interesting view as Priestly tries to come down the ladder. Castiel reaches for his shin without thinking and has the briefest impression of skin and hair before he steps back because Priestly melts down the bed and is before him, too close.

Priestly takes him in, plain underwear and tee. “Forgot to brush my teeth,” Priestly says, eyes on Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel steps back and Priestly blinks before taking a breath and going to the bathroom.

He waits for a moment, hearing Priestly use the toilet and wash his hands. The sink stays running and he follows to see Priestly putting toothpaste on his brush. Priestly starts brushing with his right hand while grabbing something from the linen closet with his left—a new toothbrush.

Castiel remembers a basket with several of them, and he pushes at Priestly gently to join him at the sink and listens to the toilet tank filling.

He doesn’t look at Priestly’s thighs.

Priestly’s eyes are tired, and he could use a shower, but his hair isn’t full of color today, the mohawk messier and more windblown with some kind of gentler product. He’s not wearing eyeliner either so Castiel thinks he’ll be fine.

Priestly finishes brushing first, and Castiel steals some of the mouthwash before Priestly can close the bottle. They take turns spitting and Castiel rinses the sink, bemusedly putting his toothbrush into the holder next to Priestly's. Priestly’s is green, and the one he gave Castiel is blue; there’s a purple and red one in the other holes.

Castiel feels special, a little silly. He likes that he’s claimed one of the spots in the holder.

Castiel is a gentleman and keeps his eyes level as Priestly climbs up the bed; he flips off the light and follows, careful to remember where to place his toes and where to grab the railing above in the dark. Priestly is already burrowing, but the mattress is huge even with Priestly in it. Castiel carefully uses his phone for faint light and slides himself into a space with minimal wiggling. Priestly grunts and flops a hand towards Castiel (hits him on accident) and it takes him a moment to realize he wants Castiel’s phone. He hears Priestly put it on the little night-table thing attached to the side of the bed, and he listens to him open the water and drink and shuffle around some more.

Castiel listens to Priestly’s breathing, waiting for it to even out.

He stays awake for a time and can tell Priestly’s not yet asleep either; he moves his leg here, and Castiel rearranges the blanket there. He gets too hot and unthinkingly tugs his shirt off before realizing that he’s not alone in the bed and that he doesn’t know where to put it. He pushes it up somewhere by his head.

“Cas,” Priestly says eventually, and Castiel flops over onto his back and stares at the vaulted popcorn ceiling he can start to see, eyes adjusting to the faint light coming in the window through the blinds.

“Would it be weird if I asked you to call me Dean sometimes?” he says, very quietly.

“No,” Castiel says simply, fingers idly touching the skin on his chest, thinking he should have kept his shirt on.

He thinks Priestly’s finally fallen asleep until he says “Night, Cas,” snuggling deeper into his pillow and muffling his voice.

Castiel smiles softly in his direction. “Sleep well, Dean,” he says, not sure if Priestly hears him.

\- -

"Dean."

Castiel sighs. "Dean."

He's been awake for a few minutes, aware of a cocooning heat and a bar of pressure across his body—and his bladder.

Priestly is wrapped around him quite thoroughly with both arms (one somehow under his shoulders) and a leg thrown over so that Castiel is efficiently trapped in place.

Castiel had tried calling Priestly by his chosen name and had gotten no result, but 'Dean' doesn’t seem to be any more effective with how heavily the man in question is sleeping.

Hibernating. In almost-summer.

On top of Castiel and Castiel’s bladder.

Castiel sighs again. "Dean."

\- -

Priestly is warm and comfortable and very much asleep, but there’s a base awareness somewhere that he isn’t alone. It isn’t the kind of awareness that would make him freak out; instead there’s a deep restfulness in his hindbrain, this base feeling of _comfort_ that makes his whole body pleasantly heavy and solid. He feels warm and safe.

If said hindbrain was advanced enough in its state of sleep and could encapsulate this combination of feelings it might call it _nice._ He thinks he hears his name, maybe a few times, felt more than heard. Like it’s moving over his skin and settling into his bones.

Little things bring Priestly a tiny bit closer to awareness, like what feel like tugs against his leg, and breathing, somebody breathing in his arms. Priestly snuggles just that much closer, tightening his hold before he sighs and sinks back into full doze.

Tugging again. A name, a sound. Then:

"Dean Priestly Winchester _I have to pee."_

Priestly inhales deeply and stretches, subconsciously moving his leg off of his bedmate. There’s moving and grunting and pushing that isn’t especially gentle but that’s cool. He’s comfy and safe and they’re warm.

Priestly rolls into the warm spot (it’s kind of too hot, but the spot smells good) and tucks his arms under the pillow there.

He thinks he hears something, a little growl, a word—maybe _unbelievable—_ but he doesn’t really process it. He might smile into the pillowcase.

\- -

Castiel climbs back up into the bed with Priestly just where he'd left him, settled into the space Castiel vacated. His arms are up, hands under the pillow, face semi-buried and most of his body exposed by the pushed-down sheets and comforter.

Priestly has rather long, rather nice legs, objectively speaking. Castiel knows this and has seen them in jeans and shorts.

Subjectively speaking, his thighs and backside are lovingly set off by the panties, their color even more gorgeous come morning light.

Castiel allows himself to appreciate the sight, now that his more pressing need has been relieved and he feels a little better about the long (and heavy) body in front of him.

Priestly’s thighs are spread a little, their natural bow leaving an attractively open space that sparks an impulse Castiel chooses to follow.

He gleefully crawls over Priestly and lowers himself quite comfily over his back, his hips settling right into the cushion of thighs and butt, torso fitting so naturally over Priestly's. His arms aren’t as easy, so Castiel arranges them as best he’s able along Priestly's shoulders and the bed, bending to put an only-slightly-annoyed kiss to said shoulder. His lips tingle a little; the shirt’s not as soft as it looks. Priestly smells musky and could definitely use that shower. It doesn’t deter Castiel from wanting to put his nose to Priestly’s nape and inhale.

Priestly's skin is very warm through the shirt and against his lips. He likes the feel of the hair on his legs against his own.

Priestly hardly lets out a huff when Castiel rests over him fully, and Castiel wants to smile until he realizes he’s already doing it.

"Dean," he says, his voice admittedly a little breathy.

Naturally there is no response. Castiel sighs, still smiling.

\- -

Priestly is warm and comfy and something’s heavy, the weight and heat wrapping him up in that same base _nice toasty safe_ feeling. Somebody’s saying his name again, maybe gentler than before, an urgency gone. Priestly lets himself sink further into the blankets as the weight lays on him, spreading him out, pushing him down and it’s just really, _really nice_.

\- -

Priestly makes a happy little sound, still asleep. Castiel hears it, feels it all the same as Priestly sort of wiggles under him, a barely-there movement. Castiel can’t stop smiling, and he feels stupidly impulsive and there are no shortage of liberties in Priestly's bed, so.

He gently bites the back of Priestly's shoulder where it joins the long muscles of his neck, just a quick, little squeeze with his teeth through the shirt.

Priestly makes another sound, a deeper noise, and his whole body tenses and relaxes under Castiel in a kind of lazy stretch. Priestly lets out a groaning kind of sigh, and though Castiel can’t really see it he senses when Priestly’s eyes open.

Castiel puts his chin on the hand over Priestly's back and waits him out. Priestly takes a while to wake up, and his voice is steeped in sleep and fails to make Castiel’s smile go away. It’s very persistent and he’s coming to realize Priestly makes these things happen.

"Did you bite me?" His tone is simply curious, voice deliciously sleep-rough; not awake enough to understand biting people may be odd. Some silence passes and Castiel might have thought Priestly is still dead to the world until he moves, maybe trying look at Castiel. This leads to a little weight-shifting and then Priestly sounds far more awake, "Dude, are you on my back?"

Castiel doesn’t bother to answer that, instead following another impulse and pressing his lips briefly to Priestly’s unkissed shoulder, which earns him a short, rumbling "Mm." Castiel feels it.

"S'comfy," Priestly says into the pillow, muffled, and his body melts suspiciously.

"Dean," Castiel says.

No response. Castiel smiles.

"Dean."

 

**MAGIC FINGERS**

_In which we wish to shoot the Messenger_

Castiel wakes to an empty bed, not realizing he’d fallen asleep. He’s not entirely certain how Priestly managed to get out from underneath him or remove himself from the bed without rousing him. It’s late morning and past time to get up (and _he_ needs a shower), so he goes to investigate.

He’s getting used to negotiating the vertical climb of Priestly’s bed, and alights next to the papasan without incident.

His coat’s gone and so are his jeans and socks and boots; clean clothes are still scattered on the papasan.

He jumps a little when he’s roped into an off-center hug by long, bare arms; Priestly is big and warm and solid and it’s a lot to process.

As such, Castiel hopes he may be forgiven for his scent and for the tiniest of pokes his modest erection gives to Priestly’s hip.

Priestly stiffens a little next to him, and gently rotates Castiel by his shoulders. Castiel’s already trying to back his hips away, but Priestly doesn’t let him go. He kind of side-hugs him, if that’s a thing, and it feels more companionable than...anything else, the way he tugs with an arm over Castiel’s shoulders.

“Happy to see me, huh?” he says, smile in his voice, and Castiel knows his eyes are wide and his mouth’s open and he was far more awake than this earlier.

Some of the teasing smooths out from Priestly’s cheeks and his eyes turn to something else. Something a little curious, a little nervous; something softer.

Castiel’s face is hot, but when he glances at Priestly’s ears he sees they’re red. Priestly sees him looking, and then he slides behind him instead, sort of draping himself over Castiel’s back and gently crossing his arms over his front.

He hooks his chin on Castiel’s shoulder; Castiel can feel his stubble and his warm breath when he speaks.

“It’s cool, Cas,” Priestly says, and Castiel’s heart speeds up in his chest. “I think I’m kinda flattered.”

It isn’t what he expected him to say; maybe that he was put off or uncomfortable, or that he doesn’t know what he was feeling. He’s not letting go, and Castiel tentatively puts a hand over one of Priestly’s arms, kind of runs it up and down a little.

“Are we...is this cuddling?” he asks, surprised at how rough his voice is. It is not what he intended to say.

Priestly huffs warmly against him, and Castiel thinks he can feel Priestly’s heart beating against his back. Somehow Priestly’s nerves complement his own. They don’t lessen anything, but it makes him feel better, somehow. Like Priestly’s with him in whatever this is.

“Is this okay?” he says, because Priestly hasn’t answered him and he doesn’t know what’s happening.

“I,” Priestly starts, and he slowly, carefully turns his face into Castiel’s neck, nosing at him once before stilling. “I like the way this feels,” he says, and his voice is a little unsteady. Castiel squeezes his forearm gently and holds on.

“I dunno what it is but I don’t want it to stop,” Priestly says, and he actually shivers a little—Castiel feels it all along his body.

One of Priestly’s hands opens and rests over his torso; Castiel breathes in and then out, letting himself lean back and Priestly takes his weight. His arms tighten and slide into a proper hold, and Priestly turns so he keeps his face in Castiel’s neck. His shirt feels soft and ribbed. His breath makes Castiel shiver.

“Dunno what m’doin’, Cas,” Priestly says into his skin, words a series of not-quite-kisses that make Castiel tingle.

Castiel tilts his head a little, thinks about offering his neck. Thinks _you’re doing all right._ He shudders again and shakes himself, enough that Priestly immediately loosens and moves back a bit. Priestly’s so _gentle_ it awes him; he’s a big man but he doesn’t act like it, and he seems the type to be shy about this kind of thing if the evidence were to speak so far.

He’s also very brave. Castiel is almost positive Priestly doesn’t have a lot of experience with men, with letting people get close in general. He’s let Castiel sleep over in his bed several times, didn’t object to having his space frankly invaded, and there are pink and red and blue panties on the papasan chair amidst socks and boxer briefs and t-shirts.

He opened himself up to Castiel last night and he’s not retreating in the light of day.

Castiel turns around, slowly enough that Priestly doesn’t drop his arms but slides his hands to Castiel’s biceps, smoothing along the muscles of his upper arms. He squeezes a little, like he’s exploring, and Castiel carefully puts a hand on Priestly’s chest.

He realizes he’s looking at Priestly’s shirt, and he makes himself meet his eyes.

Priestly’s beautiful. Castiel knows this objectively (or perhaps it would be considered subjective). His facial structure is a beguiling blend of strong (jawline) and delicate (eyelashes) and lean (nose, cheekbones) and soft (mouth, Castiel could stare at Priestly’s mouth for _days)_ and yet as soon as Castiel’s eyes meet Priestly’s, time ceases to matter.

Green and green and green, shades and tones and they’re overwhelming. Perhaps he’s being ridiculous; Castiel finds he doesn’t care.

His other hand is drawn to the tattoo on Priestly’s neck, and he lets himself look at that lest he be lost. Priestly seems to be watching him in return, allowing himself to look at Castiel’s face and his hair and his throat—

Castiel’s not wearing a shirt. He thinks it’s still up on the bed, unless Priestly found it and brought it down. The air is comfortable but his nipples abruptly pebble to stiffness and he feels exposed.

“Cas?” Priestly says gently, still petting his skin. “You okay?”

Priestly’s ducking his head, his hair simply brown and kind of fluffy on top sans glue or color. He’s scruffy and wearing a plain silver stud in his chin, and the metal in his nose and ears gleams softly.

Castiel looks from his eyes—serious, generous, open—down to his mouth, lips parted, full and inviting.

“I think you should shape your sideburns,” he says, and he blinks.

Priestly blinks as well.

“Like this,” Castiel says, and his finger’s doing something on its own, drawing a line along one stripe of hair, almost ginger in the light through the window. “The angle is level with the ground; they could be shaped to follow your jawline and I think that would be rather pleasing.” Castiel’s finger stops at the pointed end, a small distance from the corner of Priestly’s mouth, and stays there.

“Of course you don’t have to change anything.” Castiel clears his throat and drops his hand. “I like you as you are and I like the way that changes at your whims.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, covering his nipples. It makes Priestly let go of him, and Castiel looks at the floor.

“I’m washing your clothes,” Priestly says, and Castiel looks up at him, eyes wide.

“Okay,” he says, and kisses Priestly on the mouth.

It’s a little bit of a collision; Castiel falls forward and tips up just enough. Priestly’s body leans, but doesn’t fall back; his lips are _soft_ and their give is not what Castiel expected, little prickles from the hair above them. They’re full and lovely. Priestly’s hands are back on shoulders and they’re warm, unsure and not at the same time—this feels _new,_ the ball of the chin stud pressing against him a little. Castiel’s hands have found their way to Priestly’s neck and jaw, and he does need to shave. He doesn’t press inside, though he caught Priestly’s parted lips; he gives the gentlest of suction to the lower, and his whole body is separate, his mind is somewhere else. The act of observation versus experience confuses him—he should be more in control and more present, he should be showing Priestly and leading him and—

Castiel pulls back, not even a sound as they break. Priestly’s eyes are very green. Castiel’s not sure how long they don’t move.

“You’re serious about the sideburns thing,” Priestly says. He’s breathing a little fast, voice husky, standing there in his black muscle shirt.

“I think it would accentuate your cheekbones,” Castiel says solemnly. His own breathing is a little harder than before.

Priestly narrows his eyes a little and purses his mouth. “Show me what you mean,” he says, looking at Castiel’s mouth a moment more before he tightens his grip on his shoulder and drags him to the bathroom.

\- -

Shaving turns into a _thing_.

Cas needs a shower. He says this, in that voice of his, and steps into the tub and pulls the curtains shut. He kind of fumbles them, so Priestly helps. “Kinda hard to show me what you mean when you’re in there,” he says, and Cas says something back about pores and steam and then his boxers come flying over the shower rods.

Priestly leaves them where they land; the clothes are already going and it’s not like Cas hasn’t borrowed underwear before.

The water starts and Cas yelps (it’s still cold, that first shot) and Priestly snorts as he gets his shaving shit together.

He eyes his sideburns, and tries to see what Cas is talking about. The bottoms are parallel with the ground; was Cas thinking to make them follow his jaw? It’d thin them out a bit…

Priestly draws a finger down the line of one side, then back upwards towards his ear, an imaginary cut. He tips his head up and looks at his beard under his neck, gets to thinking.

Cas drops a bottle and it makes him jump. He slides open the little medicine cabinet and grabs some of his kit, laying it out on the sink and pushing a comb aside. There’s not a lot of space, so he puts the toothbrush holder (now fully-loaded, Cas marking his territory) into the linen closet on a towel.

He purses his lips in thought before he carefully unscrews his chin stud and pulls the base through his lip with his teeth. He puts the pieces in one of the little cups and covers them with saline solution, dabbing at the piercing with a cotton swab.

Cas’ shower is creating a lot of steam, and Priestly runs some hot water in the sink and gets his face wet. He needs to shave anyway, and he grabs the box where the trimmer lives next to the clippers and their attachments.

He plugs the trimmer in and stares at himself some more.

The shower shuts off and the curtain holders clink against the rods as Cas pushes them to the side; he hides halfway behind them modestly. Priestly smiles at the way his hair’s matted to his head and passes him a fresh towel.

Cas dries himself out of view, or mostly so; he steps out while wrapping the towel around himself. Priestly likes huge towels, the kind they call bath sheets in the home goods places, so Cas has to wrap it up just under his armpits. His shoulders have droplets of water on them and his hair’s all crazy now. Priestly raises his eyebrows and Cas just grunts, leaning in close.

It’s steamy and Cas is wet and in a towel. Priestly looks at Cas’ shoulders in the fogged-up mirror when he reaches back to hit the exhaust fan.

Cas brushes by him to look at the mirrored doors of the linen closet, only a little less fogged. Priestly helplessly pushes the front one aside, revealing the rear one that is mostly serviceable.

Priestly runs his tongue against the bare piercing inside his mouth and the indentation from the disc. Cas looks at the clippers and razor and creams on the sink. He glances at the big mirror and runs a hand over his own cheeks and jaw, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I have an electric razor at home,” he says when Priestly nods at his scruff. Priestly shrugs.

“Your call, man,” he says. He turns his head side to side, and picks up the trimmers, flicking the lever to shorten the blade.

He starts in on everything that isn’t supposed to be there, and Cas watches him for a while before wandering out, presumably to get dressed. Priestly kind of wants to see where this—thing, whatever it is—see where it goes, if only to have Cas stick around so he can have the opportunity to attack him as he comes out of the shower with a towel, see just how crazy he can get his hair before Cas smites him with his glare. (It’s a pretty wicked glare.)

The steam clears up fairly fast and before long Priestly can use the actual mirror. He takes the razor to the bigger expanses of his cheeks and neck while Cas gets dressed in the bedroom.

‘Dressed’ is a loose term; Cas comes back with his lower body taken care of, but he’s apparently decided he’s comfortable without a shirt.

Priestly’s surprised to find it a little distracting, and he feels the flush when he catches Cas’ eyes in the mirror. He doesn’t want to make Cas self-conscious, but he doesn’t know how to do that. Look? Not look? What sort of signals is he sending? Should he be sending any? Is—does he need—what even is he doing?

Cas has a little mole by one of his nipples. Priestly wants to look at it closer, here, maybe—maybe in the bed. White sheets, skin everywhere. Bolts of uncertainty, the first stirrings of excitement; this is what Cas does to him. Priestly’s a little scared because what if it’s just that Cas is a guy, and Priestly’s just—experimenting, putting out feelers and using Cas like he bitches about women using men?

That’s stupid. Cas is _Cas,_ and Priestly really likes Cas. Like a lot. And he’s figuring out that maybe it’s time to realize hey, he’s not what he thought, or maybe he is. Maybe labels aren’t important, and Cas staring at him like he’s being weird (‘cause he totally is, just looking at Cas in the bathroom) but like he’s tolerating it because for whatever freaky reason Cas likes Priestly back _(how)_ and that’s pretty...cool. Cool, scary, and kinda awesome.

Priestly leans back against the lip of the counter, the wood around the sink creaking. Cas steps a little close, and his usual disregard for personal space is a tiny bit charged. Might be the humidity, might be that Cas has nice eyelashes.

Priestly thinks maybe they’re gonna kiss again, and he’s afraid it’ll go too far, that he’ll go too fast even though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s letting Cas in his space, and Cas has been the one to push and—Priestly generally lets the girls lead, he owns that, and he kinda finds that Cas being all—it could totally work for him.

It’s a lot of thoughts to have at once and yeah, too fast, too far, but Cas smells good. Priestly can smell him all showered and he smells like Irish Spring and Priestly’s shampoo and Cas, and his brain’s gone from bed-skin-touch to maybe couch-hold-warm and he just stands there, blinking.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” he finally manages, and maybe it’s a little squeaky.

“I’ve seen you in various states of exposure around many people,” Cas says. “Granted, many of them are your family, or your friends.” He pauses, and looks along one of Priestly’s arms in a way that makes him feel like he should spring goosebumps. “I recently had the singular pleasure of seeing you in one of the many beautiful pairs of panties you have,” Cas says, and his _voice_ is _doing things_ to Priestly. He said _panties._ He squints a little, tilts his head. “How are you so comfortable?”

Priestly doesn’t know what he’s doing when he raises one hand to run it along Cas’ arm, touches the way Cas’ eyes made him feel. He rubs along the skin, presses just a little with his fingers, and he feels Cas shiver a little. He licks and bites his lower lip, half-aware he’s doing it when Cas’ eyes fall to his mouth.

“It’s not so much confidence as, um, a lack of self-consciousness,” he says, pausing with his hand on Cas’ bicep. He’s never really just held a guy’s muscle before, not like this. He gently, gently applies pressure, not quite a squeeze. Just a measure. Just to feel.

“You...seem to put a lot into how you look,” Cas says cautiously, like he’s not sure it’s the right thing. Priestly’s pretty sure Cas could get away with saying a lot of shit just by staring at his mouth like that. His eyes are unreal.

“I care about how I look, I just don’t care about what people think of it.” Priestly’s had this conversation before, and he’s said different things in different years to different people. His Dad, Sam, Ellen. Himself. “I care what people see, I guess—I wouldn’t be vain otherwise, right?” He sort of smiles, but Cas looks at his eyes then, puts a hand on his neck over the tattoo.

“I don’t think you’re vain,” Cas says, all seriousness. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

Priestly’s mouth opens and he _wants_ Cas to lean in but he can’t make himself lean forward. Cas just—he just _said_ that like it’s a thing you say, like people would think Priestly’s—

He licks his lips compulsively and swallows. “Cas,” he says, and that’s all he’s got.

He should say something else. Point out that Cas has pretty eyes, except they’re so much beyond that, they’re kind of freaky, the blue is just _weird_ and awesome, and generally Cas is pretty awesome and he thinks he’s—he might be hot and Priestly wants to find out what that _means_ because Cas is breaking all kinds of firsts here, ones you can’t see and shouldn’t be huge but are.

Cas takes in this breath like it’s significant, and he lets it out as he steps back to put space between them. He’s still looking at Priestly’s mouth as he does it but he—it gets cooler with the air moving as he does and Priestly’s head feels a little fuzzy but the kind right before it clears, like standing up too fast, and he doesn’t know what to do or what Cas is doing.

Priestly thinks _I like how you look at me_ and _I want you to keep looking at me._ He glances behind him and pushes off the sink, grabs the trimmers. It’s awkward but Priestly can do this, he can push through and—shit, maybe he’s being selfish. He wiggles the black body of the trimmers a little uncertainly, and he’s not sure what he’s asking when he says “Show me?”

“Maybe we should visit Ash,” Castiel says, uncertain himself and gingerly closing his fingers over the trimmers, brushing Priestly’s hand.

Priestly grins, and decides fuck it—bull by the horns. “Nah,” he says. “It’s hair. It grows back.” He feels suddenly reckless and free. He winks at Cas as he tilts his head and lets Cas put a hand gently on his throat; a click, and then the buzz of the trimmers fills the bathroom.

\- -

Priestly tilts his head up to look under his chin, turning his head side to side.

The goatee has a little backwards sweep to it; Priestly can see where Cas is going with this, if he lets it grow out. Underneath is bare for the first time in a long time, and it feels weird. The ‘burns are thinner, sharper, and Priestly doesn’t know if he’ll keep the look or thin anything else out, but Cas might be on to something.

He’ll have to let them grow out a little more on top to keep up the look, but—yeah. He likes this.

Priestly runs a finger along the line of one sideburn, trailing it down to the point. He thinks he looks pretty good, idly tapping against the tiny patch of soul under his lip.

He looks at the sharp lines, and frowns. This is gonna be a bitch to keep up. It’ll start looking scruffy in a day or two, max.

Priestly meets his eyes in the mirror and gives a mental shrug. Being pretty takes work; he’ll live.

\- -

“You want brunch?”

Priestly’s got his head in the fridge so it’s possible Cas won’t hear him; he’s got eggs and no bacon (that’s all Sam and Jo—siblings exist to steal his bacon) and some stuff he could maybe throw in for veggie omelettes (or just scrambled eggs with stuff in them, he’s feeling lazy), and maybe he’ll fry up some ‘tatos too. Hashbrowns slathered in ketchup and pepper, sounds like a plan.

He’s got ingredients out and he’s mixing eggs in a bowl when Cas wanders in. They’re both wearing more clothes, sort of—Priestly’s got his super-soft cutoff sweats on with the fresh muscle shirt (he got a pack of them on clearance, and the other one was full of trimmed hair). Cas dug up something similar (he kind of likes how Cas just went into his closet and riffled around), though the ‘cutoffs’ are in fact from a store and Priestly has no idea who left them here. Cas is wearing an offensively orange shirt with reflective white stripes down the sides, front and back. It maybe started life as a work shirt for construction or something; Priestly got it at a Goodwill one Halloween to be a traffic cone and tore off the sleeves. A lot of his shirts lose their sleeves that way.

“I like orange,” is all Cas says about it, and Priestly doesn’t judge. It’s his shirt.

Priestly asks if Cas wants to stick around for the food, since he’s pretty sure Cas didn’t hear him. Cas eyes the parsley and pepper bits swirling around in the eggs, and he leans a shoulder on the fridge, crossing a foot over another and pointing his toes at the floor. He bounces it idly.

“I do have some things to do for my brother,” Cas says, and he sounds a little put-out about it. It makes Priestly kind of feel better, somehow.

He makes a lame gesture at the bowl.

“Plenty for you,” he says, and Cas gives him this soft sort of smile that has Priestly blinking and moving the pan around and turning the burner on.

Cas goes into the living room and starts poking at his phone, but he brushes his hand over Priestly’s shoulder as he goes.

Priestly gets the eggs going.

\- -

“It’s noon and you sound barely-awake!” Gabriel sounds utterly delighted at this supposed situation.

“I am perfectly awake,” Castiel growls. “It’s eleven—” he looks around for a clock and squints at the microwave. “It’s not noon,” he says, trying not to sound petulant.

“Late night, huh?” Gabriel sounds as though he’s speaking around something in his mouth, likely a lollipop. He makes an ‘ _oooh’_ noise. “Did you get a complaint from my neighbors?”

Gabriel’s neighbors are almost exclusively single, older, or both, and frequently lodge complaints against one another or Gabriel; Castiel hasn’t elicited any that he knows of. “I’m at Priestly’s.”

Gabriel pops his lips. “No shit,” he says. “You dog.”

Castiel takes a measured breath. “I wished to speak about the upcoming reports—”

“So is he hot?”

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Be honest, you’re looking at his ass right now.”

Castiel’s eyes drop to Priestly’s ass. “I am doing no such thing.”

“So he’s hot,” Gabriel says, satisfied. “Good job, little bro.”

“Mm,” Castiel says, and he hears Gabriel actually snap his fingers.

“Hey, his eyes are up there.”

Castiel snorts. “I wanted to rough out a timeline with you for the latest reconciliation and statement reports.”

“You don’t ‘rough out’ anything, kiddo,” Gabriel says. “You know end of the month is fine.”

Castiel willfully holds in his sigh, and Priestly catches him looking to the ceiling as though there’s spare patience to be had above. “Gabriel,” he says, and his tone has Priestly glance over his shoulder and raise an eyebrow. “If I wait till the end of the month then your next statements are coming in and I’m working with old data. You wanted me to help you discover trends in your books—if you just want them reconciled you could go back to—”

“Okay, all right, cool your jets, kid, you’re the CPA,” Gabriel says, and Castiel huffs. “How about this. _You_ tell _me_ when you need the statements by—didn’t I give you the password? I’ll get the bank to add you—and you tell me what you need from my end otherwise. I leave my books in your capable hands.”

“I don’t need access to your bank,” Castiel says, though truly that would make his life easier. “I’m not officially contracted with you—”

“Bro, you’re doing me the huge favor, okay? You’re watching my place for me _and_ doing my books. You know I couldn’t afford to hire you at what you’re worth.” Castiel hears the pause and knows what’s coming. “You consider contract work?”

“Gabriel—”

“I know you enjoyed working at the firm. I mean, except for Zach, but he’s a douche’s douche, we all knew that. I’m just saying—if you can get your name out there—”

“And do taxes for people once a year, _if_ I obtain regular clients,” Castiel says.

“I’m talking,” Gabriel says. “Why not make up some cards and I’ll put them in the shop, and you know the rest of us would. Be worth lookin’ into.”

Castiel finds himself considering it. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “I’ve—I’m actually going to start some work at the sandwich shop on Monday,” he says.

“Hey! Perfect! Word-of-mouth. And your boytoy can put your cards there too. Speaking of—you getting serious on me, Castiel?”

Castiel takes a moment, trying to find the right words, and Gabriel reads his silence. “No way,” he says. “So you like this one? He’s cool?”

Castiel still doesn’t have the right words, and wonders if there are any. He walks back into the vicinity of the kitchen, watching Priestly work.

Priestly rests the spatula against the pan briefly to look at him and make vertical squeezing motions with his hands, jerking his head at the phone. Castiel nods. “Priestly says hello,” he says, and the man in question snorts.

“Hello back, hurt my little brother and I’ll burn you alive,” Gabriel sing-songs cheerfully.

“Gabriel says hello.” Priestly smirks; he may have heard some of that, or intimated what was truly spoken.

“Okay, fine, I’ll get deets out of you later,” Gabriel says. “Hey—call it the second Tuesday of the month if the first is too soon.”

“For the reports? I can do the second—why Tuesdays?”

“Dunno,” Gabriel says. “Tuesdays are good. And don’t sweat the next one, just finish it when it works best for you and hammer out a schedule. I trust you.” Castiel hears some shuffling noises. “And don’t forget tourist season’s ramping up, so I’ll be staying at the place a few days out of the week in a while—”

“I’ll—right. I’ll figure something out—”

“Jeez, bro, I’m not kicking you out. I _was_ gonna suggest that if you don’t wanna share space, stay at your boyfriend’s place. Yanno?” As far as innuendo goes, it’s not Gabriel’s most subtle. “It’s not for a bit yet, so don’t get your panties twisted.”

Castiel’s eyes reflexively fall to Priestly’s ass again, and he misses the last part of Gabriel’s speech. “Right. What?”

Gabriel sighs. “Call me if you need anything, and I mean anything. I will have him whacked if need be.”

Castiel rolls his eyes a final time. “Understood, Gabriel. I don’t think there will be a need.”

Castiel ends the call a short while after and heads back to the kitchen. Therein lie delicious smells and Priestly plating food, muscles playing under the inked skin of his bare arms.

\- -

“Does Gabe take trades?” Priestly asks seriously, holding up a filled plate as example and offer. Castiel accepts it and takes it to the little table, Priestly following with his own. The potatoes smell heavenly.

Castiel tells Priestly a little about Gabriel as they eat, mainly that he’s skilled, rather _laissez-faire_ about many aspects of life, and regularly exasperating.

“He may offer you appointments if he tries one of your meals,” Castiel says through a mouthful of eggs.

“Chew, dude,” Priestly says, a potato in his own cheek. Castiel pokes him in the arm and Priestly gives him a rounded smile.

His phone buzzes, moving a little over the glass.

 **Gabriel:** I messaged Luci, FYI.

Castiel stares at his phone, mute with horror.

“Cas?”

Castiel swallows his bite and taps the keys.

“Cas, you okay?”

 **Me:** I disown you.

 

**NIGHT MOVES**

_In which we require a length of tubular steel_

Priestly’s asleep when his phone starts buzzing on the little night table, the wood absorbing most of the vibrations. It’s still enough to startle him awake at—the hell time is it? The screen’s too bright to focus on but it’s Bobby’s ringtone, so he opens the flip and brings it to his face.

“Yeah,” he kind of says, kind of grunts, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“The shop was hit while Jo and Cas were in the back,” Bobby says, and Priestly’s upright and awake almost before the words register. “They’re fine, the cops are here.”

“On my way,” Priestly says, kicking off the covers.

\- -

Priestly kind of expects red and blue flashing over broken glass, something dramatic, but there’s just two patrol cars out front, lights dark. He swings around to park in the back with his stomach in his feet and jogs up to the front.

There’s glass all over the sidewalk, one of the big plate windows taken out—there’s gonna be glass in the planters and it’s inside too, the assholes threw something or kicked the window to get in.

Priestly gingerly pulls the door in its rickety frame, and it opens wonky, sticks. A beat cop looks over her shoulder at him, clocks his face, and waits; she’s got a clipboard and next to her the register’s jimmied open, the drawer askew. There’s just two cops inside, and Bobby immediately claps the one he’s talking to on the shoulder and goes for Priestly.

“Jo and Cas are in the office,” Bobby says. “They’re okay.” Priestly releases a breath, but the tension doesn’t really leave him. He realizes Bobby’s got a firm hand on his shoulder. “They cleaned out the register—apparently Cas held Jo back from running up front.” Bobby sounds mildly impressed by this—not that Jo would rush up to defend the shop, but that Cas was successful in deterring her from doing so.

“They’re okay,” Priestly says, just kind of affirming it. “You—what the hell happened?”

“Came in through the window,” Bobby says, nodding at it. “Kicked some things around, took the drawer money, and took off when they heard Jo and Cas. Cops think they tried to break the door first before they just came in through the glass.”

Bobby moves so he can look into the shop; there’s the glass on the counter, the floor; the curved display by the bar is spidered but still inside the frame. They’re gonna have to order that.

“How much did we lose? Just the register?” Priestly asks, wincing as he crunches into the shop.

“Just that,” Bobby says. “I’ll get a price for the glass first thing to—later today. You’ll be on Home Depot duty.”

“Ten-four,” Priestly says, adrenaline slowing down as he passes the cops and heads for the back where he can hear Cas’ low tones.

\- -

Jo looks up as Priestly comes into view in the office doorframe; he’s pale and his hair’s halfway sticking up and he’s wearing whatever he threw on, which in this case are some faded canvas pants torn off at the knees and a plain black-and-white baseball tee.

He’s over to the desk and scooping her in barely after she’s standing; she expected this, but she still grunts. She lets him have his squeeze because he needs it before pushing at him.

“I’m fine, Cas is fine,” she says, and then Priestly’s got her shoulders in his hands and here it comes.

“What the hell were you thinking, Jo?” he says. “You were gonna go up to the front while those assholes were in here?”

She can hear Cas getting up behind them, stepping closer; Priestly’s eyes flicker to him and give him a quick once-over before his attention’s all back on her. His mouth’s open and he’s breathing hard and his eyes are angry and worried.

“Priestly,” Cas starts, and Jo would normally shove him off, tell him she’s fine and to calm the hell down because she’s a big girl—she and her mom’ve chased dickwads out of their old Roadhouse at gunpoint before when she was way younger—but the way his eyes dart over to Cas again and then back to her…

She takes a breath and makes herself think calm thoughts. She _had_ been ready to go out there and kick some ass, maybe get shot at. She wouldn’t deny it was stupid but she’d have done it anyway if Cas hadn’t been here.

Jo brings her hands up and puts them on Priestly’s chest, up high near his neck. “Hey,” she says. “I’m okay. We’re okay. Cas was doing the books, I was studying. It happened and it’s done and we’re fine.”

Priestly swallows dry, breathing a little less hard, and he blinks a few times. Jo thinks he’s gonna hug her again, and she pushes a little, warningly. He blinks again and then he lets her go all at once and goes for Cas, wrapping him up. Cas gives a little grunt of surprise and his eyes fly to Jo’s.

She shrugs— _he’s like this,_ she tries to say—and Cas tentatively pats at Priestly’s back before he’s released.

“Shit,” Priestly breathes, wiping his hand down his face, and Jo can agree with him on that.

\- -

Priestly’s up and down the wide aisles of Home Depot with a purpose; he’s got the list from Bobby and one he made up himself. Bobby’s working with Cas on the glass order, so Priestly’s in charge of a new doorframe (and a new front door), some steel tubing and other stuff for the shop. He’s got some big wooden dowels for the apartment windows out of paranoia; the apartment’s on the second floor and only one of the windows can be accessed without a ladder, but he figures he can give the extra to Chuck or see if Cas wants it for Gabe’s condo.

He’s got one of the long carts loaded up (can’t fit a door, screening and lumber for the new frame otherwise) and he push-pulls it up to a register. The cashier doesn’t even look at him and is already beeping the doorframe; it’s busy as hell for the early hour. Priestly’s shuffling the lumber when the tube rolls off his cart with a clang; he pulls the cart forward for the cashier and chases down the steel. A lady’s snuck into the line in front of him when he comes back (maybe not realizing his stuff is still there, Priestly can be generous) so Priestly excuses himself through several people and goes in backwards, careful to not bean people with the pole. There's an older guy and his wife or whatever finishing up the next line over totally in his space, and he feels eyes on him as he turns the pole to find the barcode sticker. The guy’s kind of in the way, fiddling with his wallet and receipt and generally being an obstacle.

Priestly clears his throat and excuses himself again, trying to be civil but asserting his space. The cashier finally looks at him, and maybe it’s the break-in, or hell, the _thing_ with Cas, shiny and new and still maybe a maybe, but Priestly feels kind of stupidly exposed. The cashier beeps the pole and sort of stares at him; Priestly still feels eyes and he glances behind—yep, the old guy is just staring too.

Funny thing; it’s way more annoying when it’s not Cas.

Priestly’s starting to feel a little belligerent, because the guy’s face is saying all kinds of dickish shit, but he can be a nice guy and not make assumptions before more coffee. "Dude, you don't just ask a guy why he needs forty-eight inches of tubular steel," he tries. The guy is unimpressed.

Priestly frowns a little, rolls his eyes and turns back to the cashier.

…who is still looking at him really weird.

"Can I get my stuff?" Priestly says, gesturing at the small amount of crap on the belt. The cashier starts scanning the small shit, and whatever their moment is it passes. Priestly feels the guy's eyes on him, so he deliberately turns.

"Dude, can I help you?" he says.

The guy puffs up a bit, which is just—whatever. Priestly breathes in, and then out.

"I'm just watching _you,”_ the guy says, giving him a super-obvious once-over, lingering on Priestly’s hair and tattoos.

"Whatever," Priestly mutters. He pulls out his wallet and slides his card (payment, with money, asshole), staring the cashier down (also still being weird), and he says "in the bag" before the receipt's even printed out.

He takes his shit and swings the steel a little close to the old guy—"Oops," he says—and makes his way outside.

The sun’s bright and it’s just as packed outside, cars and people going in and out, carts left wherever by lazy dicks. It’s possible Priestly’s not looking at the world in a favorable light at the moment.

A big bald guy almost walks right into him as he's heading for Bobby’s old truck (frame and lumber won’t fit in the ol’ girl) and Priestly's corrects to avoid him, saying "Hey, hey," and the guy looks over—yeah, right here, pal—gives him this ‘What?’ look and Priestly grabs another Zen breath.

"I can't go off-roading in this, man," he says, trying for nice, ’cause there’s a curb, and then his stomach sinks. The guy looks like he's gonna start shit—he's big, big gut, big arms, big shoulders drawing up—and then he looks at the tube in Priestly's hand. His eyes take in his tats and his piercings and suddenly the dude’s making for the other end of the parking lot, leaving Priestly blinking.

Somehow it makes Priestly feel even shittier.

\- -

Priestly’s mood improves at the shop—all hands are on deck, though Bobby gives a token protest at Jo missing a Friday class she picked up. He knows she wouldn’t not be here.

Cas stayed with Priestly again after all was said and done with the police, a tacit agreement that the condo was too far. The offer of a hot shower helped.

Priestly offered Cas the bed and tried to take the couch—he was gonna be at the shop in a handful of hours anyway—and Cas refused, insisting that they both get the best rest they could.

(“You don’t have to be there tomorrow, Cas,” Priestly had said. “I’m choosing to be there, Dean,” Cas had responded, and maybe it was the name or just the tone he said it in, but Priestly’d shut up.)

They’d slept on their own sides of the bed for a few short hours until Priestly’s alarm went off, and Cas rode shotgun in the Nova drinking coffee Priestly’d picked up for them both on the way.

Cas had volunteered to go with him to Home Depot but Priestly’d shrugged him off, in a weird mood, insisting that he get with Bobby for an assignment.

The shop’s closed in the bright light of day as they work, the glass cleared out of the front and off the street. The plants are carefully tended by Ruby and Sammy’s volunteering his big self for glass duty with Bobby. They’re taking his truck to go get it; Priestly has no idea how they’re gonna transport it.

Cas is carefully working with Jo to try and take out the display case glass. They’ve got it all strapped up with painter’s tape, just in case, and Priestly turns from the doorframe where he’s ripping out the old nails just in time to see the disaster as it happens.

Taped or not, the bowed glass weighs a ton, and while Cas and Jo manage to get it _out_ of the frame, their leather-gloved hands aren’t able to handle the whole thing and it just comes _down._

Priestly still jumps when it shatters, holding on to the frame to keep himself steady, and Ruby bolts upright in surprise.

The last of the glass tinkles to the tile floor, and for a second everything’s quiet. Cas’ phone rings, loud and obnoxious—Asia, of all things.

“Gabriel,” Cas says over the music, looking at the glass around his feet and his gloved hands.

“Gimme your gloves,” Jo says, and they maneuver out of the glass. Jo grabs the push broom while Cas steps to the side to take the call.

Gabriel. Owner of the condo, Cas’ older brother. Priestly pulls at a stubborn nail holding the old wood panel at the top of the frame in place, the wood squealing as he yanks it free. Priestly’s never been anything _but_ the older brother; his only serious relationships didn’t involve getting to know the family that closely.

Priestly never really dealt with fathers or big brothers, and he has no idea if that’s even a thing with—if he and Cas are even a thing. If there’s a thing at all.

He feels derailed, not even knowing where the train was headed in the first place.

\- -

The pall lightens up as the day goes on; progress will do that. Priestly seems in better spirits, and Ruby’s conferring with Sam by the herbs and decorative plants while Bobby talks outside with the insurance adjuster. She’s a beautiful woman perhaps from England, going by her accent, and Castiel watches them point at various things outside.

He’s focused on gently removing the last of the triangular pieces of glass from the display case when Priestly comes up next to him, crouching to look at what he’s working on.

“Thanks for being here, Cas,” he says, and Castiel is nudged by a cold soda. He looks down at it, and nudges back.

“Thank you,” he says. “Would you put that up on the counter for me?”

Priestly makes a negative sound. “Breaktime,” he declares. “Orders. Gonna have to ask you to step away from the case.”

Castiel huffs, and stands, not realizing how stiff he’d gotten. He slips off the gloves and accepts the soda, looking at Priestly from under his lashes. “Orders are orders,” he says, and Priestly grins and kind of rocks on his feet.

“So…” he says, glancing around. Castiel waits. “That was Gabe?”

Castiel smiles. “Gabriel was calling to let me know when he’s headed back to town here to begin taking appointments,” he says. “He works out of his physical office in Palo Alto, and he comes down for the summer season and visits offices and other sites Mountain View, here, the University.”

“He as good as you?” Priestly says, standing a little close and Castiel hears his voice go a little low. It makes his stomach feel a little…floaty.

He blinks at Priestly, then smirks. “Better,” he says wryly. “He’s the licensed technician.”

“Hm,” Priestly says, and Castiel thinks that Priestly’s forgotten how to flirt if he knew in the first place, because he just stands there.

Priestly’s face goes a little ruddy, but he keeps smiling. “I kind of lost my line,” he says, eyes falling to Castiel’s mouth quickly.

“We kind of—left off at a strange spot,” Castiel says, “and I understand this is…new.” Castiel leans against the counter a little, careful to avoid any glass. Perhaps he pitches his voice a little. “Allowances can be made.”

“Magnanimous guy,” Priestly says, and yes, he’s definitely standing closer. He blinks a little, looks around. “So—we’re—you and me, we’re, uh, a—you and…me?” He falters, and then he scowls as Castiel loses the fight against his grin the more he talks.

“Holy crap I suck at this,” Priestly says, his own smile winning out, and they kind of stand there smiling at each other for a moment before someone drops something—not glass—and curses loudly. Priestly jumps and turns to look, but Castiel notes he doesn’t move away.

Castiel opens his soda and sips—7-Up like Priestly favors. Priestly changed into jeans and boots for the work, and kept the old three-quarter sleeve on. It pulls up when Priestly reaches, and Castiel’s been a little distracted throughout the morning, Priestly with his arms high in the doorframe, teasing glimpses of hipbone here and there. Priestly looks just as good now, sweaty and disheveled. He did the most cursory job on his hair (a single red mohawk that’s a little crazy-looking) and he’s not wearing eyeliner. He had just freshened up his shave again, and in Castiel’s eyes, sweaty and disheveled is a good look for him.

Priestly turns back to Castiel blatantly checking him out, and Castiel smirks a little. He may not be very good at this either, but he knows when words won’t work out for him. (Most of the time, it turns out, but that’s life.)

Priestly moves his tongue against the side of his teeth like he’s thinking, and he looks at Castiel’s face, at his mouth, at his eyes.

“Dude, you’ve got really pretty eyes,” Priestly says, simple as that. “I been meaning to tell you that for a while, but didn’t know how to say it.”

One little line, delivered without an ounce of charm, and Castiel’s brain goes fuzzy. He thinks it’s because Priestly’s actively reciprocating, and it makes him a little dizzy.

“Are we working or did I miss the standing-around-doing-nothing memo?” Bobby’s voice effectively snaps them both out of it, and Priestly turns to him with apologies on his lips. Castiel’s eyes linger on his shoulders as he hurriedly finishes his soda.

\- -

Late morning shades into afternoon, and Ash swings by with Roadhouse food and compliments to Priestly’s look (his face, not the hair). The food is very well-received, and Bobby finishes up with—Talbot, Bela Talbot, the agent. Priestly takes some of the paperwork back to the office and gives it a real quick review before leaving it on Bobby’s desk.

He sees where Cas was working, and the books are still out—they’re all at the shop, so he’s not worried about security—and he looks at the difference between Bobby’s somehow tidy scrawl and Cas’ neat little rows of numbers and notations.

Priestly’s made his way to the back kitchen and storage, double-checking everything when Cas says “boo” and grabs him from behind; Priestly hears himself laugh and it’s a real one. He feels himself flush and go a little nervous, and then he goes from flushed and nervous to giggly when Cas—the turkey starts _tickling_ him, and Priestly grabs at his arms and they’re scuffling like kids.

“Dude,” Priestly says, and Cas isn’t holding on that rough—this, whatever it is, if it’s just goofing or if it’s part of whatever they are, it’s still so fresh, tentative. Priestly knows the shine will wear, it always does, but—he likes this, it’s stilly and he feels kind of stupid and he manages to get at Cas, and _yes,_ “You’re ticklish too, got you now,” and they maybe bang against the freezer door and knock a tray across one of the metal tables but it doesn’t fall.

Cas calls it quits first, raising his hands and breathing hard, all red in the face, and Priestly wants to mess up his hair more (that’s definitely a thing) or maybe—maybe walk towards him, just a couple steps, and Cas doesn’t move back. Priestly’s getting in his space, and one of Cas’ hands goes behind him on a metal counter, steadying, bracing, and Priestly leans—

The back door opens, letting in late afternoon light. The steps sound like Sam, and sure enough his big frame fills the doorway to the kitchen in another second. The back door slaps shut, but for a moment in the light, Sam looks so much like Dad it makes Priestly’s breath stop.

He blinks, falls a step back, and Sam looks between them. “Sorry,” he says, sounding unsure of what he’s sorry for, “uh. Bobby’s dumping the rest of the old wood, he wanted to know if you wanted any for the fireplace.”

Priestly blinks. “Uh. No. M’good, that wood.” He clears his throat, and finds himself scratching his neck. “Adhesives and crap. We can save it for a bonfire at the yard if he wants.”

Sam nods. “Right,” he says, and he awkwardly backs out of the kitchen and goes back outside.

“So,” Cas says, bringing Priestly back into the moment. “That was…”

“Sorry,” Priestly says, and now he’s not sure what _he’s_ apologizing for. “I mean, I’m. Gonna go back,” he says, and then he walks out of the kitchen back into the front. The glue should be dry on the new doorframe by now. He’s gotta hang the new door.

\- -

Priestly’s unaccountably bitchy for a while (that’s what Jo says, bitchy) and he doesn’t argue the point because she’s right but he doesn’t know _why_ and that makes him bitchier.

It’s also because the new door’s being a bitch, and he got one of his fingers pinched in a hinge putting the pin in (the stupid fucking thing didn’t want to go in and then it just _fell_ right into place) and he’s tired and getting hungry again. There’s more Roadhouse grub in the fridge and he should really feed himself and get the others to eat, but he’s too focused on getting _done._

“Sam,” he snaps, and Sam startles from where he and Bobby _just_ finished putting the new window in. Priestly closes his eyes; the last thing he needs to do is make Sam drop a big sheet of plate glass all over himself and Bobby, screw what it cost.

“Sam,” he says again, more evenly, “grab everyone for a food break.”

Bobby’s eyeing him funny, and could certainly tell him what for, but he stays quiet. Priestly doesn’t know why. He finishes with the last part of the door (he’ll do the strikeplate later) and steps away from it, outside to the street.

There’s a bit of a breeze, but not much; it started as a hot day that signals summer’s coming or here, though he knows the Pacific will throw them a couple cooler mornings and colder nights just because.

Tension’s natural, he tells himself. Family in one spot, tempers get short, especially with the work they’re doing. Priestly (or Bobby) should have called a break a while ago, and with the food they’ll come back together. Maybe they were okay, and it’s just Priestly who’s off.

He comes back in feeling sheepish, and he looks at Sam and tries not to be annoyed at the look he gets back. Sam isn’t even mad; he looks kind of low-key worried. Priestly should try to not be an asshole but it’s all he can do to not look at him and work on warming up some food.

Cas keeps a bit of a distance at first, and it’s not till they’re sitting down at the tables (unlike their hurried lunch in the back kitchen, standing around and leaning against counters and cabinets) that Cas sits next to him. It makes Priestly realize he was probably feeling Priestly out, seeing if he was welcome.

Priestly scoots a little till their legs bump, and he keeps up a little pressure.

He feels kind of stupidly and undeservedly relieved when Cas presses back.

Halfway through dinner, he announces he’s getting everybody ice cream, and Bobby looks at him from a booth over, and nods.

Priestly relaxes.

\- -

Bobby declares that they’re as done as they’re gonna get, which is pretty damned close to done-done. The new door’s hung, strikeplate and lock in place, the big window’s up (how Sam and Bobby managed that Priestly has no idea) and everything inside is clean. The glass for the display case won’t come in till it’s ready, since it has to be custom-made, and they’ll be using the old cashbox until they get a new register (per Bela Talbot the insurance should cover that, too, and she thinks she can wrangle them a newer model that lets them swipe cards).

Priestly and Jo go for the ice cream in her Chevelle, windows down and music too loud. She doesn’t tell him till they’re halfway back from DQ that she’s “donating to the cause,” and she reaches over to open her bag to show him another bag while he tells her to watch the frigging road.

“Dude,” Priestly says, not sure how he feels about it—Cas is there, and if Cas isn’t down Priestly’s not gonna partake. On the other hand, if Cas _is_ down Priestly wouldn’t mind using half the freaking bag, but—Cas. He doesn’t know how Cas feels about it and he realizes that matters to him.

“Hey,” Jo says, as she pulls up to the back of the shop. “You okay?”

“How’re you getting home?” Priestly asks, and he doesn’t care if she bitches about him going mom-mode, she’s not driving after this shit.

“I was thinking we’d convince Bobby to have a bonfire,” she says, and Priestly nods. That’d work. Bobby’d let them crash or call them cabs (or stare at them till they called their own cabs—Bobby could be intimidating when he needed to be).

“You had me at bonfire,” Priestly allows, and they shut the car doors in sync and bring the ice cream into the shop.

Bobby is convinced in short order, since he’s got most of the junk wood in the back of his truck anyway; it helps that Priestly got him a strawberry-banana shake special. Priestly sees him take Jo aside. He’s got a dog’s nose when it comes to weed; he knows they all smoke it and he’s almost always let them do it on bonfire nights, under a few unbreakable rules (no driving, no weed in the house, nothing harder than weed or booze allowed). Jo doesn’t give him any attitude, and after the ice cream they button up the shop nice and tight and maybe do a little ritualistic smudging with some sage Bobby keeps for the purpose. (“You can never be too careful,” Bobby says.)

They pile in to several cars—Cas rides with Priestly in the Nova—and head to Bobby’s.

“He’s got a small yard way out west, near the farms and the U,” Priestly tells him, arm out the window even though the air’s a little chilly (there’s the ocean wind all right). “Not far off the coast. Had his place long before the fancy suburb built up on Delaware, it’s kind of a weird spot. Beach is super rocky there.”

Cas makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement next to him, and Priestly glances over. The road’s damn near empty but for their caravan, streetlights starting to peter out. “You cool with going, man? I’m happy to take you home.”

“No,” Cas says, looking over at him. “I’m good, just tired.”

Priestly nods, looking back at the road. “So, uh,” he says. “There’s gonna be weed,” he says, getting right to it. “Dunno if that’s not your thing or what. I probably should have asked before we hit the road, but I’m serious—if you’re not down we can bow out.”

Cas is quiet for a while, and Priestly glances over again. “It doesn’t bother me,” Cas says quietly, and Priestly isn’t sure if he’s subdued or just tired like he says. “I’d only ask if Bobby doesn’t mind another body—I assume everyone is—crashing there?”

Priestly smiles; sometimes he just loves how Cas talks. “Yep,” he says. “Or we get stupid-expensive cabs back home. I don’t wanna leave the car like that, so unless I bribe Chuck with a shitload of money and food to be our ferryman I’d say crash there, enjoy the fire, toke up if you want.”

Castiel stays quiet, but the silence isn’t too uncomfortable. The drive takes a while and Priestly eventually does roll up the window on his side shortly after Cas does. It’s cooler out here.

“You okay, Cas?” Priestly says.

“Yeah,” Cas says, and that’s all he says.

They pull up Bobby’s long gravel drive, having passed the aforementioned subdivision on Delaware that looks far too fancy for what Bobby’s place is—humble, big lot with lots of space, away from everything else.

“State land mostly,” Priestly says when they get out and stretch, Cas looking around at everything limned in moonlight. He groans a little; he doesn’t want to be awkward about it but he’s gonna ask Cas one more time if he’s got a problem with Priestly smoking, because he could use the muscle release if nothing else.

Bobby and Sam are piling up the wood and Ruby and Jo join in. Ash beat them here, somehow, and he helps unload the truck.

Ruby asks after Chuck and Ash tells her he had an appointment for a sleeve he’s been working on for months. Ash sounds like he might have already hit the good stuff (his own stash is…kind of scary) but he always sounds like that, so.

Bobby joins them with beers all around for those that want ’em as they get the fire going. There’s a pair of old bench seats ripped out from a station wagon of indeterminate origin, vinyl cracked and split, a random bucket seat from some 90s sedan, an old dusty couch only Ash and Bobby want to sit on, and some worn lawn chairs with faded straps that Bobby probably bought new in South Dakota. Sam sprawls across one of the bench seats because he’s huge (seriously, how does the State of California support him?) and Jo and the others drag seats around the fire as it starts to get going.

Priestly claims the other bench, throwing an arm across the back and kicking his legs out in the dust. Cas flops next to him, a little close, and Priestly doesn’t move his arm, though Sam doesn’t hide that he looks.

Bobby makes noises about being old and needing beauty sleep, and eventually gets to his feet. Priestly gets up to tell him goodnight, and gets pulled into a slap-hug that he returns.

“Thanks, kid,” Bobby says, and Priestly looks at him.

“Thank _you,_ Bobby,” he says, and Bobby just shakes his head.

“You be wise tonight,” Bobby says, and Priestly nods dutifully.

Jo busts out the bag when the fire’s huge and roaring, enough to make them scoot their seats a little further back. Turns out Sam knows how to roll a joint (kid’s in a yuppie Cal college, makes sense) and Priestly’s only a little surprised that he’s joining in. Jo and Sam become the rollers by default, and sure enough Ash has his own stuff that nobody wants, even though he offers.

“Hey,” Priestly says quietly, before he’s gotten anything. “You okay with this?”

Cas shifts on the seat next to him. “I might try some,” he says, and Priestly blinks.

“Okay,” he says, and Cas looks at him funny.

“Is that—I don’t want to assume—”

“No, no,” Priestly says quickly. “Dude, it’s fine, you’re more than welcome, I just didn’t know if I should or not.”

Cas looks at him for a long moment, and Priestly lets himself stare at his face in the firelight. “I don’t mind,” he says. “Your choices are your own and—I’m a little curious.”

Priestly finds himself grinning, just a little, something small. “Told you you’d make a good delinquent, Cas,” he says, and Sam’s reaching over to pass him a pair of joints.

“Sammy,” Priestly says. “You been running with the bad crowd?”

Sam flips him off, grinning, and Priestly settles back into the bench seat, wiggling his butt around to get comfy. Ruby passes her lighter one direction and Jo shares hers with Sam and Ash. Priestly hasn’t even had a chance to light up before Cas jerks next to him and then he smells it too.

“Ash,” he says, waving his hand in front of his face, “the _hell_ is that?”

Ash doesn’t speak for a moment, taking another hit. “You want some?” he says, voice way more normal than Priestly thinks it should sound.

“I’m good,” Priestly says, warily. “You tell me if you start seeing unicorns.”

Cas openly watches Priestly light his joint, eyes on his hands, his mouth—lingering on his lips. Priestly takes his first drag, and he looks back at Cas.

“This stuff can kind of stink,” he says, trying to blow the smoke away. He takes a deep inhale of fresh air and waits to see what Cas does.

Cas looks a question at him, and Priestly looks at his hair—it’s all scruffy and he kind of has bangs now, probably from sweating earlier, a little more limp than it usually is, tired like they all are. Jo and Sam are laughing about something, and Ruby’s listening to Ash explain whatever the hell he’s grown and harvested to create his alien weed, and Cas is just—here, looking at Priestly’s face and sitting close to him. It’d be real easy to just drop his arm and rest it over his shoulders.

Priestly offers him the joint, and Cas looks at his hand.

“Ever smoked before, Cas?” Priestly says, and Cas shakes his head.

“Several of my brothers have and do,” he says, “but I’ve never smoked anything. I hate cigarettes,” he says, and he puts the joint to his lips before pulling it back a little.

“What do I do?” he says, and Priestly walks him through it, tells him to just try a couple breaths first, to pull without inhaling, and then to just breathe in. Cas coughs a little, and then he manages one really good pull—and breathes smoke out his nose.

 _“Fuck,”_ Cas says, surprising him, leaning forward and pinching at the bridge of his nose. Priestly takes the joint and rubs his hand over Cas’ back.

“That’s a bitch,” he says. “Sorry. Meant to warn you. It’s real easy to do that.”

Cas gives a raspy little laugh, and Jo calls “You okay, Cas?” and then Sam is asking too, concerned.

Cas waves them off, leaning back into the seat—Priestly moves his arm over the back again—and grinning. He clears his throat; his eyes are a little watery. “Let’s try that again,” he says, leaning his head back, touching Priestly’s arm.

Priestly can’t help it; he laughs a little, quiet huffs of breath. “Watch,” he says, and he puts his lips around the end of the joint and sucks in, holds it, blows it out over Cas’ head.

Cas watches.

Priestly hears Jo mutter something, and ignores her; Ash is still waxing poetic, and Sam appears to be listening at a quick glance. Priestly lets his eyes fall back down to Cas, to his mouth. He silently offers the joint, and instead Cas takes his hand and brings it to his mouth, closes his lips and carefully inhales.

He doesn’t hold it for long, instead working on breathing out through his mouth, and he blinks like he expected it to go worse. He doesn’t cough, and he takes a couple tentative breaths afterwards.

Priestly raises his brows. “You good?” he says, and Cas nods.

“Am I supposed to be feeling anything?” he says, looking down at himself. For some reason it makes Priestly smile.

Maybe it’s just Cas.

“You will,” Priestly says, sucking in another hit. “Probably,” he says, holding a breath, and then letting it out. Some smoke goes through his nose but it doesn’t bother him too much, just stings a little. Probably a sign or something that he does this too much.

“Mm,” Cas says, and Priestly and he end up sharing the one joint instead of lighting up one each, like Sam had given them.

Cas also ends up closer, thigh alongside his, though Priestly is sprawling a little. He does eventually drop his arm, because he can, because Cas is right there and he leans back into it, rests his head, and Priestly maybe just stares at him while the others actually talk to one another and laugh and enjoy the fire.

\- -

Sam watches his brother and Cas, off in their own little world. Watches Dean teach Cas how to take a hit, watches the space between them—not much to begin with—shrink by degrees.

He nudges Jo when Dean’s arm falls on Cas’ shoulders, and Jo looks happy about it, kind of quietly hopeful. She still snorts and points, but neither his brother nor Cas notice her doing it.

Sam doesn’t mind that Dean and Cas are kind of their own thing right now; he and Jo have a lot to catch up on and they’re not gonna get through everything in one night. Ruby’s trying some of Ash’s stuff, which Sam thinks is a really questionable idea; Jo’s stuff is good enough, his shoulders relaxing and eyes drooping a little after a pair of hits. He’s happy to lean back and listen to the crazy stories Ash has no shortage of, and he mentally compares this Ash with the one he barely knew as a kid.

He and Jo worked their way through growing up, him without Dean, her with, after she ran from her mom and reconciled with her here. It’s funny, how things kind of center around Dean; they’ve each got their own lives, but Dean’s definitely a point of orbit for them. He’s centering, gravity, whether he knows it or not. Sam never really knew their mom, and he knows Dean has better memories of her, and he knows Dean tried to fill that role as best he could while fighting to find his own way with Dad.

Dad and Dean…Sam thinks Dean got the short end of the stick because he was the first son, had all these expectations to live up to, and when he started going off in directions Dad couldn’t have imagined—

That’s the other thing. Sam knows his Dad as he was when he was growing up, and a little as he is now. Dean knew Dad from when their mom was around, and Sam believes him that Dad was a different person.

Losing someone changes you, he knows that; even if you never knew them, it affects your life and those in it. Dean and Dad both changed in ways Sam will never know, and Dean had his own expectations for _Sam_ that he knows were partially projected from Dad, from what Dean feels he failed to do. College, that was a big one.

Sam had his own falling out with John Winchester, but it was nothing like Dean’s.

Dean’s is still a gaping rift, and for all that Dean pretends he exists separate from his old world, Sam knows he doesn’t.

He’s not gonna try to make Dean to do anything he doesn’t want to, but if _Sam_ can talk with Dad now—Sam knows he’s more like Dad than Dean will ever be.

They started small, started careful, and now Dad knows about Jess and his classes and his plans. Dad sent him back to California in the Impala, Dean’s tapes in the cardboard box older than Sam is.

He’ll work on Dean, a little. See where it goes.

\- -

Castiel is fascinated by the ring in Priestly’s left nostril.

He pokes at it, trying for gentle, looking at the little bead—ball?—in the center, and Priestly doesn’t seem to mind, until he moves it a little too much and Priestly abruptly moves away, shaking his head.

He rubs his nose furiously, sniffing. “Made me itch,” he says, and Castiel mumbles an apology that for whatever reason makes Priestly beam at him.

“Dude, you are so high,” he says, and he sounds absurdly proud, such that Castiel thinks he should perhaps be offended. He’s not entirely certain what he should feel, but he likes Priestly so he’ll let it pass.

He leans in to Priestly instead, because the air’s chill and the fire’s warm and so is Priestly. He finds he doesn’t mind the smell of marijuana, though whatever Ash has is a little intimidating. Castiel scoots and shuffles and settles his head on Priestly’s chest just under his shoulder, turning his body, and Priestly freezes up a little underneath him.

Castiel sighs, and reaches for the joint in Priestly’s limp fingers. Priestly releases it without incident, and Castiel manages to avoid burning his nose again.

“This doesn’t smell as bad as I thought it would,” Castiel says. “I’ve smelled worse.”

Priestly lets him keep the joint and Castiel almost forgets he has it until Priestly gently moves his arm so he’s not at risk of burning Priestly’s thigh through his jeans. “Some shit smells really skunky,” he says. “Cheap stuff. This stuff’s good.”

“Mm,” Castiel says, snuggling a little closer. “Why do you have your piercings?” he says, staring out at the night beyond the fire, listening to Priestly’s heart beneath his ear. He wants to touch Priestly’s thigh but he’s got the snub of the joint.

Priestly shrugs and shifts a little. “No concrete reason to offer,” he says eventually. Castiel can feel his fingers moving minutely over his back; he doesn’t think Priestly knows he’s doing it. “Got my tattoos and that just kind of snowballed. Was in the shop with Jo one day and got this one,” he says, touching his chin with his right hand, still absently petting Castiel with his left.

“Oooh,” Castiel hears, and he realizes it’s Jo. “Dude he _bled_ so _much_ it was gnarly as hell.”

Castiel senses a story, and while his face is comfortable his neck isn’t. The bench seat isn’t made at the right angles. He shuffles around until he’s leaning with his back against Priestly instead, head still in the crook of his shoulder, Priestly’s arm falling over his chest now. He reaches up and takes a loose hold over Priestly’s hand.

“Tell me about it,” he says, bringing what’s left of the joint to his lips as Jo grins across at them.

\- -

“I had the brilliant idea to get it done the day before Thanksgiving,” Priestly’s saying, and he manages to rescue the tiny bit of joint before it burns Cas’ fingers. Cas doesn’t quite let go so he ends up with a handful of Cas’ hand too, and he has to use both hands to extricate the joint and chuck it at the bonfire. His left hand drapes back over Cas’ chest—had he had it there before? Huh—and he leaves it there, because why not. This is kind of comfy-not-comfy; his back’s gonna bitch at him for the angle it’s at, but—but _Cas._ Cas is warm and solid and he’s making Priestly warm all inside.

“We’re in this shop where I was gonna get my first tattoo,” Jo’s saying, and right, story. “Priestly wasn’t gonna get anything that day or whatever but he saw—was it the jewelry that caught your eye or what?”

“Poster, actually,” Priestly says, remembering.

“Right, so like, this band poster or something, guy’s got a labret and Priestly’s like ‘gee why not?’” She uses her dumb Priestly-voice; he totally doesn’t sound like that. “They were having a special and they had good piercers, clean place, so I hold his hand—”

“Hurt like a motherfucker, for about a second,” Priestly says.

“You about squeezed my hand in half, dude,” Jo says, and Priestly talks over her.

“No, that was this ear, remember?” he says, trying to point to the helix, but his left hand’s tangled with Cas’—when did Cas reach up and hold his hand?—so they both kind of flop their hands around his head before he drops them back to Cas’ chest. _“That_ one made me cry.”

“Ohhh, yeah,” Jo says. “I remember that one. Okay, yeah.”

“I remember your first tattoo,” Sam says. He’s gone horizontal on his bench, hair lying over the dark vinyl. “You were lucky with that one.”

Priestly winces; that wasn’t the best memory for a few reasons. Dad, for one. And he didn’t take care of the tattoo right off, so he’d gotten a real mild infection. “Yeah,” he says, having to clear his throat a little. “That kinda sucked.”

There’s a little bit of a silence after that, and Priestly wonders if Sam’s remembering the fight or if he was just remembering the tattoo. Priestly absurdly wants to tell Sammy he’s glad he’s here right now, but it’s not the time.

“You got any ink or metal, Castiel?” Ash says, voice raspy as hell, a welcome distraction.

“Thought about it,” Cas says, and Priestly looks down at the top of his head. “Piercings. Never did.”

Priestly wants to ask what Cas thought about getting pierced when Ruby beats him to it.

“Where were you gonna get stuck?” she says. “Or had you thought that far?”

“Nah,” Cas says, and he’s _so relaxed_ it’s kind of beautiful and really weird. “I thought about it far more vaguely, just in terms of body modification as both an aesthetic statement and what it represented for my personal view of who I was.”

Priestly stares.

“Dude,” Ash says sagely, like he understood that.

Cas snuggles around some more, and Priestly absently strokes his fingertips over his shirt. Ruby and Jo start talking about--something, he loses the thread--and Cas sighs against him.

Priestly licks his lips. “Kinda feel like I’m in grade school, man,” he murmurs, quiet enough for Cas to hear over the fire.

He can see enough of Cas’ face to know he smiles. “I never really had this kind of thing in school,” he says. “I led a very structured early life.”

Priestly nods a little; that might explain a few things. Might not. He doesn’t know why he says what he says; maybe he wants to warn Cas what he’s getting into, what there is on offer.

“Never finished high school,” he says. “Bobby made me get my GED, nineteen or twentyish.” Cas doesn’t say anything to that, and Priestly swallows. After a while, he says, “What about you, learned man?” He makes ‘learned’ two syllables. “What kinda fancy accounting schoolin’ do you have?”

Cas lets out a bigger sigh and kind of flops back, making Priestly grunt. He leans back a little more to better support Cas, flushing; nobody’s paying attention--no, there’s Sam, with his beady eyes. He just smiles and looks back up at the stars when Priestly glares.

“I am in possession of two degrees and the certifications that allow me to practice as a CPA that I must keep current, which is a frankly boring chore. I could easily have obtained these certifications _without_ the degrees I have and in fact pursued only as what I now understand to be a measure of placation to my parents, whose expectations I woefully believed fulfilling would in turn lead to fulfillment of my own life.

“I was sorely mistaken,” Cas says, sighing and resettling again against Priestly’s body, “and now I am called adrift and directionless by the very brothers that themselves rebelled in their various ways and magnitudes against parents none of us speak to any longer.”

Priestly’s impressed on a few levels; one, Cas’ education, though the background on that is kind of depressing; two, Cas is fucking _high;_ and three, Cas seems to agree on the directionless front but not be too worried about it that Priestly can tell. That’s a start.

He tries not to, but he can’t help but think that his GED and sandwich-shop life aren’t what Cas—what he deserves. He deserves so much better than bullshit burdens placed on him by parents, brothers, whatever, he should be free to do what he wants and—he should be with somebody who’s worth his time, his attention.

“Sammy’s gonna be some bigshot lawyer,” he says, and he knows he sounds proud. Sam pulls this dramatic sigh and huffs “It’s _Sam,”_ and Priestly grins.

Cas cranes his head to look back at him then, and Priestly’s a little caught because Cas’ eyes are freaky blue right now in the fire, the light entering them sideways, and it should be too dark for them to—glow like that, like he can see Priestly’s soul.

“Dean Priestly Winchester,” Cas says, very quietly but very seriously, and Priestly’s arrested: “If you think for one moment that I value you for anything other than the quality of who you are as a person, if you think that I will judge you or reject you based upon standards I myself believe meaningless, you misrepresent me and yourself. I _like-_ like you, which is what I believe they say in grade school.”

“Oh,” Priestly says, because what do you say to that?

“You ever get your nips done, Priestly?” Ruby asks, startling Priestly’s into a laugh and yanking their attention to her.

“No,” he says. “Too chickenshit for that.” His hand clenches gently, reflexively, against Cas’ chest.

“You thought about that?” Jo says, sounding surprised and a little offended.

“Never told you about it,” Priestly says. “Was a passing thought. Ruby was in Chuck’s shop when we discussed it.”

“Ouch,” Jo says, covering her chest.

“There’s always the risk for loss of sensitivity,” Ash says, “but I always thought nipple piercings were hot.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Priestly says before he realizes it, and now they all know he was scared of losing erotic sensation in his nipples. He knows he’s bright red, but the fire’ll probably hide it.

Cas shifts a little against him, so there’s not much hope he missed that.

“What about—low down?” Jo says, and for some reason Sam laughs. “What?” Jo says. “I don’t get that. I mean I do, I guess, but I _don’t,_ like, holy ow.”

Ruby’s smirking loud enough for Priestly to notice. He clocks her face and—“No way,” he says.

Ruby smiles, and Priestly finds his right hand protectively covering his crotch. _“How,”_ is all he says.

“Very carefully, with an experienced piercer and open eyes,” Ruby says solemnly, and Priestly has to let go of Cas’ hand—okay, he was totally holding Cas’ hand, how did he not notice—to fistbump her in admiration.

The second joint lies forgotten in his pocket, and it’s when Cas snores softly that he thinks it’s time to call it a night.

“Jo,” he says softly, and Cas snuffles. “Did Bobby set up beds…?”

Jo nods, and gets up. Sam stands and stretches and holy _shit_ he’s tall. Priestly may never be over that.

Priestly urges Cas up, and Cas seems pretty awake for the little snooze he was taking a moment ago.

They shuffle inside, Priestly finding and claiming a pair of sleeping stations for him and Cas, demanding Sam take the pullout sofa because he’s too big to fit anywhere else. Jo sets up shop in the recliner, and Ash is still outside with Ruby.

Priestly shows Cas the bathroom and goes outside to help bank the fire. Sam follows him.

They use an old bumper to knock down the bigger pieces of wood and kick little berms of sand together, making sure the area’s swept clean. Ruby and Ash both say they’re gonna stay up, so Priestly heads back towards Bobby’s door to get ready for bed but Sam gently touches his arm.

“I’m thinking of heading back,” he says, and Priestly looks at him.

“Didn’t you smoke?” he says, and Sam shrugs.

“Took two hits, early. Probably got more just from hanging around you guys.”

Priestly leans in, and it’s not that he doesn’t trust Sammy, it’s just that he can’t not check, and Sam might be tired besides. “You’re good? How’re you gonna go?”

“Was gonna borrow Bobby’s truck,” he says. “Already talked it over. He’s gonna bring Jo back in her car tomorrow.” Sam pushes some of his goofy hair out of his eyes. “You and Cas want a ride?”

Priestly chews on his lip for a moment; he doesn’t like leaving the Nova way out here. She’ll be fine, and hell, Bobby’ll probably pop her hood and tinker; she won’t mind. “Yeah,” he says. “Lemme see if I can wake him up.”

“’Kay,” Sam says, “I’ll be out here.”

Priestly finds Cas in the hall outside the downstairs bathroom, where it sounds like Jo’s running the sink. “We’re in a drought,” he says through the door, and the sink handle pointedly squeaks till the water shuts off.

Cas is looking at him, and he’s not very far away. Priestly looks back, and the hall’s dark, light from the den off the living room where Ash and Ruby and Jo are gonna crash. It’s not like the firelight and Cas is harder to see, but he’s just—he’s there, standing there, looking tired and kind of satisfied and—Priestly remembers how warm he was, outside, when they were close.

One of his hands comes up to Cas’ shoulder, and he can hear Jo brushing her teeth, hear faint noises of the fire still crackling outside. Cas lays his hand over Priestly’s, and then he’s leaning into him, smelling him and it makes Priestly shiver.

Cas is staring at his mouth, and Priestly licks his lips by reflex. It makes Cas touch his tongue to his own. Priestly leans in abortively, and Cas--his hands are touching his torso, his fingers stroke over his shirt, slide down to his hip.

Priestly pushes—he’s not sure he means to, he just does—and Cas pulls. They thunk a little against the wall and Cas is reaching for his face so Priestly leans down for him, only thinking to—to be accommodating or something but that’s Cas’ mouth, those are his lips and they’re dry so Priestly licks them.

Cas inhales sharply and then his mouth’s open and so’s Priestly’s, and—and holy shit _tongue,_ hot and wet and Cas makes this quiet, deep sound into his mouth. Priestly breathes in around everything, _pushing_ forward against the wall, against Cas, and Cas’ hands are on his back and Priestly can count his fingers.

He sucks on Cas’ tongue (what is he _doing),_ makes some kind of noise, a lot less quiet than Cas. One of Cas’ hands falls to his lower back, tugs, pulls him in a little, and Priestly’s eyes are shut and it’s kind of stupid and sloppy and _hot,_ how is Cas so _hot._

There’s a noise from inside the bathroom and Priestly moves back because he has to breathe more than anything, he’s got an arm braced on the wall and a hand on Cas. Cas who’s flushed and he needs a shower, they both do. Cas’ mouth is red and Priestly’s tingles and Cas’ eyes are heavy-lidded and his fucking _mouth,_ Priestly leans in again—

The bathroom door opens and Jo comes out, stopping short in the hall. She looks at Priestly’s hand, fisted in Cas’ shirt—he didn’t mean to do that—and then just at them in general.

“Seriously?” she says, in kind of a whisper. She points upwards, and right, _Bobby’s._

 

That’s another rule: no sex under his roof.

But that’s—they’re not—Priestly looks at Cas and Cas looks at Priestly.

“Uh,” Priestly says, letting go of Cas’ shirt and stepping back. Cas blinks and straightens a little, coming back to himself. “Sam—Sam’s gonna take us back, drop you off at your brother’s place if you want,” he says.

Cas frowns, eyebrows coming together, and Jo gives Priestly an unreadable look before leaving them alone in the hall.

Cas tilts his head a little, blinking, and he looks kind of lost and Priestly wants to—hold him, to go back to where they were on that shitty old bench seat outside in front of the fire in the dirt.

“You can stay here if you want,” Priestly says, awkwardly trying to smooth out Cas’ shirt, and Cas blinks again. He manages to close his mouth and lick his lips, and Priestly watches helplessly.

“Who’s driving,” Cas says, and his fucking _voice_ is going to kill Priestly dead and he’s maybe okay with that.

“Sam,” Priestly says, “Bobby’s truck.”

“So…I’d be stuck in the middle,” Cas says. “Between you two giants.”

Priestly can’t help the little smirk, and he kind of pats at Cas’ chest. “Yeah,” he says.

Cas takes in a big breath and looks skyward. “Okay,” he sighs.

\- -

Sam drives with his window down to stay awake, and Cas actually falls asleep against Dean before they’re even halfway back.

“That’s kind of adorable,” Sam says, and Dean gives one of his dramatic sighs.

“Whatever, Sam,” he says, which means he doesn’t know what to say. Sam smiles.

Dean directs him to Cas’ place, or his brother’s place or whatever, when they get back into town; it’s a long drive. Sam wonders why Dean doesn’t just invite Cas over, but maybe—maybe they’re not there yet. Whatever the thing is between them (and there is definitely a thing) it’s really new. Sam can see that much.

Sam says goodnight to Cas when Dean rouses him, and tries to give them a little privacy when Dean shuffles Cas into the complex, through a courtyard and out of sight. He waits, checks his phone, stretches in the seat. He decides he’s gonna ask Dean if he can use his shower—hell, he’s tired enough he should probably sleep over.

He thinks Dean probably is gonna make him stay, gonna tell him he doesn’t have to ask to use the shower, and he wonders if that had any say on whether or not Dean would have asked Cas to stay too.

Dean comes back and climbs in the truck, making it rock. He slams his door and buckles up and Sam backs them out of the lot and they’re on the way to Dean’s apartment.

Dean does say that he’s going to stay over, and shows him where to park Bobby’s truck. Sam calls dibs on first shower just to see what Dean says, but all he does is tell him he stinks and shove him towards the bathroom.

Dean pushes by him when Sam comes back out to ask for clothes—something’s gotta fit, some old PJs or something—but Dean just brushes past him and closes the door.

“Rude,” he says, and Dean grunts.

Turns out Dean just had to pee or whatever, because he comes back out. “Need clothes?”

Sam’s wearing a towel. He gives Dean a _look._

 

“Don’t get bitchy with me,” Dean mutters, and takes him to the bedroom.

They find some flannel pants with the elastic torn out, nothing but the drawstring left, and they’re perfect length, interestingly enough. There aren’t any shirts that fit Sam, and Dean shoos him away from the papasan where Sam can see some clean clothes. “None’ll fit you, Sammy,” is what Dean says. He does find him some socks; Sam puts them on the arm of the loveseat in case his feet get cold.

Dean gets some sheets from the bathroom linen closet and a spare pillow from his bed and they put together the couch. It’s not big enough, and Dean offers his bed; Sam almost takes him up on it, because the couch really isn’t big enough, but it’ll do and he says as much.

“Dude,” Dean says, and Sam just waves him off.

He settles on the couch under the sheet, bending his knees and shifting till he’s as comfortable as he’s gonna get, one leg off and one on, and he’s asleep in minutes.

\- -

Sam wakes up when the keys thunk into the bowl by the door with a flat jingle, and Dean’s shoeless steps drag all the way to the hall. He flicks the light on in the bathroom and deposits something there. He turns to face the washing machine, whereupon he sheds his shirt, jeans, and socks in that order. He reaches for his underwear when Sam clears his throat from the loveseat.

 _“Shit,”_ Dean huffs, peering over and trying to see Sam piled and folded on the cushions. “Sam.”

Sam grunts. “Sorry, fell asleep. Not really wanting the free show.” He waves a hand at him, but it’s still dark inside and Dean probably doesn’t see. He’s trying not to sound judgmental, but Dean left the house after he was supposed to be in bed, and he was probably still a little high.

“So close your eyes,” Dean says tiredly, and drops his boxers. Dean goes into the bathroom and thumps into the shower, and Sam hears him drag the curtains back a little roughly.

Sam makes himself sit up when the water starts. He figures Dean will probably be out in five minutes. “Is Cas coming over this weekend?” he calls, stretching with a satisfying pop in his spine as he stands.

Dean says something that’s garbled enough he’s probably trying to talk while washing his face. The inner curtain is as unfortunately translucent as ever, but Sam still long-arms the handle on the toilet and flushes, immediately hearing Dean squeal in anger and surprise. It’s worth the sacrifice.

\- -

Sam’s found the tea from Cas’ last visit on the counter (he _would_ find shit like that) and he’s got two mugs ready when Priestly gets out of the shower.

The shower which he did not spend moping about whether or not he’s a good thing for Cas.

Sam might be a little bitchy because he thinks Priestly drove whilst high; he wouldn’t let Jo drive like that, so Sam’s got a point, but they had no toilet paper and that is just not okay.

“Dude I _walked,_ okay, Walgreens is literally around the corner. Unless you wanna go outside to wipe your ass in the dirt you can say thank you.”

“Are you mopey because Bobby made you take Monday off?”

Priestly blinks. “Okay,” he says. “A. Why are we still awake. B. Why did you make tea—Cas,” he says, by way of explanation, before he continues, “C. Did Bobby tell you that? I didn’t tell you that.”

“Bobby told me that,” Sam confirms. “And I wanted to talk to you.”

Priestly holds the mug of Cas’ tea close to his face. He doesn’t say anything. If Sammy wants to talk, he’s gonna have to start.

\- -

"So."

Dean eyes Sam suspiciously over his mug, and Sam has a hard time keeping his face neutral. He can feel his lips pinching.

Dean says nothing, so Sam says "Cas."

Dean scowls and sips his tea. Sam doesn’t bother to hold his face still any longer. "You gonna do something about that, or not?"

Sam keeps his tone easy, non-judgemental. He knows Dean can be prickly at the best of times, especially when it comes to stuff like feelings. He’s pretty certain his brother has an allergy.

Dean's face loses a little of its scowly-scowl, and is maybe even pensive. Sam can wait him out and Dean knows it, but Sam knows that Dean can resist and not say anything at all. Sam decides he won't push, not tonight.

Dean surprises him with a movement of one shoulder that might be called a shrug.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

Dean's draw together a little.

Sam gives an easy roll of his own shoulder and the corners of his mouth dip down.

Dean sighs and looked away, sipping his tea.

Sam waits.

After some more silence, Dean swallows. "It really doesn't matter to you?"

Sam blinks. "Of course it does," he says softly, an answer to a different question; he hopes Dean will understand him.

Dean takes in and lets out a big breath through his nose before he lets his eyes go towards Sam's face. "You think I should." He makes a weird hand-wavy motion. "Date Cas."

Sam can't help a soft smile, and he flicks his eyes away from Dean to take any edge off of it. "It looks like that might be something you want," he says. "You get all weird when Cas is around. You get all hand-flappy and say weird shit and it's kinda cute." Sam feels his lips take the words too far, but he can’t stop them and can’t hold the smile either.

"I do not—I am not—oh bite me, Sam," Dean growls, burrowing into himself. In that moment he sounds so much like the brother Sam knows that he throws his head back and laughs, loud.

 

**EVERYBODY WANTS A NEW ROMANCE**

_In which everyone (but Priestly) is working for the weekend_

Priestly wraps the last of the frozen meats from the Saturday morning market haul, sealing their individual bags. "I'm headed to the freezer," he says, and Jo grunts at him from under the counter by the register.

He leaves her to it and finishes up in the back, secretly glad for the next couple of days. The sign’s up front announcing that the shop’s closed till Monday for renovations, though the work’s all done except for the display case. (Well, that and the new register’s not in yet.) Priestly’s used to spending his Saturdays at the shop with Bobby, but the break-in Thursday (technically Friday early morning) blew everything to hell. Friday’s working day and stoned evening meant Saturday was a late half-day, just him and Jo. In exchange Priestly’d convinced Bobby to take a day himself, so there’s that.

Priestly kind of wants to be there for Monday’s reopening, but Bobby’d grumbled over him even putting in hours today, so Priestly’s not gonna be back till Tuesday.

Priestly gets distracted tallying up his inventory when Jo finds him in the storeroom. She waves a partial loaf of foccacia at him that’s not gonna survive the weekend. "Wanna split this and take it home?"

"Mm," Priestly says, sticking his tongue between his teeth and leering at it. Jo smirks and goes for a bread knife.

"Stow that when you're done?" Priestly says. "I'm gonna hit the head."

"Yep," she says, putting enough for one big sandwich each in bags and tying them off. She’s washing the knife when Priestly unlocks the back door and goes to the bathroom. He washes his hands and wipes the faucet chrome when he’s done, tossing the paper towel into the big trash bin back in the rear. He gathers up the bag and ties it off, and Jo’s already holding the back door for him.

She keeps it open when he comes back so he can duck in and wash his hands one more time, wiping them on his shorts. Jo lets the door slam shut with finality, and Priestly holds out his fist. She bumps it and blows it up with a little "pshooh" noise and they wander over to the cars.

"Any hot plans for the rest of the weekend?" Jo says.

Priestly shrugs. "Dunno. You or anybody else coming over?"

Jo side-eyes him. "It's your first actual weekend in a while," she says.

Priestly moves his head back and forth. "Okay?"

"Sunday and a free Monday not special? Is Sam coming over?"

Priestly leans on the Nova and watches Jo go to the Chevelle. "He's staying in Stanford," he says. "Hanging with Jess."

"Mm," Jo says.

"What?" Priestly says flatly.

Jo shrugs and opens her door, dropping in and rolling down the window. "So you didn't schedule any hangouts and you've got your place to yourself? How often does that happen?"

Priestly stares at her. Not often, it’s true, but he’s used to being surrounded by his surrogate family. "Cas might come over," he says, a half-question.

Jo's smile is huge and the bulb goes off.

"Oh," Priestly says. "I should invite Cas over."

Jo raises her eyebrows, turning the Chevelle's engine over as Priestly rolls his eyes. "Get outta here," he says over the noise. "See you...Wednesday?"

"Not if I see you first," Jo says, and she reverses out of the tiny lot. Priestly lets himself into the Nova and fails to deny his jealousy as Jo’s taillights sweep down the street.

"No offense, girl," he says to the Nova, giving her dash a quick pat before he turns her on. "You've been good to me." He only has to whack the radio once on the way home.

\- -

Priestly calls Cas from the apartment parking lot, leaning up against the Nova. He looks down her green flank, speckled with patches of primer, while the call tones moo at him. He wonders if he should hit Bobby up for more. Maybe he can do a little sanding at the yard when the weather gets cooler again.

"Hello, Dean," Cas says as he picks up, putting Priestly momentarily at a loss.

"Uh." Priestly licks his lips. "Hey, Cas," he says, maybe scuffing his shoe on the asphalt. "I, uh, wanna know what you're doing for the rest of the weekend." He chews his lower lip a little.

Cas' voice is pleasingly low over the line noise. "I'm going to be at the market tomorrow," he says. "You're off...?"

"Free man," Priestly says, feeling his shoulders loosen up. "Sunday _and_ Monday. Dunno what I'm gonna do with myself," he says, grinning into the phone. "What about you, farmboy?"

"Are you asking me to come over, Dean?"

Cas' matter-of-fact tone is warm enough, weighted enough, that it gives Priestly a shot of courage at the same time it makes his palms tingle. "Yeah, Cas," he says, a little breathy. "If you want. You want me to swing by after the market?" He gives a little cough. "I mean, I can pick you up...uh, if you. Want." Priestly digs a knuckle into his eyebrow.

There’s more line fuzz, and Priestly drops his hand as a sort of comfortable not-silence stretches between them. "I'd like that," Cas says finally, and Priestly can hear him smiling. He smiles back, knowing Cas can’t see him. "Come by after noon," Cas says. "We generally wrap up at one on the hot days."

Cas isn’t saying anything loaded per se, but his tone is definitely...something else. "Bells on, Cas," he says. "We can grab lunch or I'll make us something. Hell, I'll grab some stuff while I'm there, maybe swing by your stall."

"It's not my stall," he says, "but I'll see if I can save some something for us." Priestly’s going to ask what he has in mind when Cas adds, "I'll get some eggs too. Do you have bacon?"

Priestly blinks. "I dunno," he says. "Sammy was here this week, and knowing him he's eaten me outta half my fridge." Priestly pushes off the Nova and starts for his mailbox. "Bacon's usually the first among casualties."

"There's a vendor here who brings in pork," Cas says. "I'll treat. I like thick-cut; any preference?"

Priestly fumbles the key to his box once before he gets it in. "Uh. No? I mean, that sounds good?" He has a couple ads for cable and internet and a Trader Joe's flyer. He hears Cas grunt and then sigh, like he flopped on a couch or something. Priestly closes his box and starts for his stairs. He makes it up to the first landing when it hits him.

"Eggs and bacon?" he says stupidly.

"Is that—all right?" Cas says, voice cautious.

Priestly takes a breath and lets it out slowly as he climbs the stairs. "You wanna—you want breakfast...?" he says, pushing his key into the lock almost mechanically.

"I'd like to come over Sunday afternoon," Cas says, voice somehow quieter, "and I'd like to spend time with you this weekend. A space away from my...roommate would be very welcome."

Priestly finds some bravery somewhere. "Ah. I get it," he says, opening his door and entering the cool apartment. "Gabe’s back and you just wanna get away." He shuts and locks the doors behind him, dropping his keys in the dish and toeing off his shoes as he flips the light.

He flops to his own couch as Cas says, very clearly, "I'm using you for your apartment, Dean. I want to also use you for your food-preparation skills as well as that fantastic mattress of yours."

Priestly gives a dramatic sigh as he leans back, the spikes of his mohawk bending on the cushions. "Knew it," he says sadly. "I am reduced to my material possessions and how good I am in the kitchen."

"I do highly value the water pressure in your shower," Cas says consolingly.

"There is that," Priestly says a little distantly, looking at nothing. He thinks of Cas here, in his space. His voice in the kitchen, his legs stretched out on the loveseat. His bare shoulders, in the shower.

"I'd like to stay over," Cas says, voice very low now.

Priestly breathes. "Yeah," he says, swallowing, licking his lips. "I'd like that."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dean," Cas says. He clears his throat a little, and Priestly finally gets the impression that Cas is nervous too. "I'll save an eggplant for you if you want to be adventurous," he says, a little louder.

"Oh now you're just being kinky," Priestly says reflexively.

Cas snorts on the other end of the line. "Goodbye, Dean."

"Bye, Cas," Priestly says, not caring if Cas can hear him smile. He hangs up and his sort of idiot grin lasts through most of his shower.

\- -

"Hey, farmboy."

Castiel looks up from the bins before him, Priestly giving him a flirty little smile across the zucchini and crookneck squash. He’s dressed in some worn, well-fitting light jeans and a white and blue plaid shirt open over something grey, maybe a tank, maybe a tee. His hair is spiked up in a wide mohawk and appears to be its natural color; his chin stud is a vibrant purple. Ink angles and swirls out from spots under his short sleeves, not new, but just as interesting as ever.

Castiel smiles, affection warming him from within. "Hello, Dean," he says, and Priestly ducks his head, running a finger along a crookneck.

"I had a bad joke in mind but decided it'd be smarter to abort."

“Probably wise,” Castiel says, reaching behind a bin between them, brandishing a hefty eggplant. “You would be outgunned.”

"Damn, Cas," Priestly says. "We could feed an army with that."

Castiel makes a show of weighing it gently. “I was thinking plenty of carbs,” he says, and he holds his breath for a fraction of a second until Priestly’s surprised expression breaks into a soft, huffed laugh.

“Okay, cheeky,” Priestly says, and he’s perhaps a little flushed. Could be the warmth of the day. Castiel is wearing the jeans Priestly gave to him the day they went to the Boardwalk with his boots, and he’s wearing a simple black tee from a pack. It’s a little fitted, and he maybe wore it on purpose.

Priestly is playing with this little black thing that he opens up—hook-and-loop panels making a tearing sound—and it folds out to a little backpack-looking…thing.

Priestly raises it in his fist. “Gonna browse,” he says. “You’re done at one?”

Castiel nods. “I have the bacon on ice,” he says, and Priestly finger-guns him and makes that clicking noise with his tongue before wandering off to peruse.

Castiel doesn’t have many customers as the clock ticks towards one, so he amuses himself by watching Priestly’s mohawk meander through the market. Priestly picks things up, checks them carefully, replaces them gently. Castiel watches him hold a bag of tiny heirloom tomato varieties separate, watches him pop a couple into his mouth.

Priestly comes back to Castiel’s table as he’s packing up, backpack laden, and he reaches for the yellow crookneck and zucchini. “Thinking of eggplant parm or veggie lasagna,” he says, handing some folded bills over the bins to Castiel.

Castiel makes his change and puts it into the cashbox. “I could always go for Italian,” he deadpans, eyes somewhere near the neckline of Priestly’s undershirt.

Priestly snorts and he’s making a rueful face when Castiel looks back up at him. “Hate to break this to ya, Cas—I’m from Kansas.”

\- -

Castiel digs a bit of dirt from under his thumbnail, Priestly sitting next to him on a bench at the edge of the big tent. The sun’s warm at their backs, and the bacon is on ice with several brown and blue eggs on top in the little Styrofoam container at Castiel’s feet, Priestly’s bag next to it.

The air’s nice and there’s no rush, or maybe there is; Castiel tells Priestly about his morning, and Priestly responds with inanities—he vacuumed the apartment and the sheets are clean, and this makes him blush. He says something about laundry, that his chores are done so Sunday’s wide open, and Castiel can’t help but stare at his face, something soft in his eyes.

Priestly keeps biting his lower lip, and Castiel is charmed.

“I want to see all your tattoos,” Cas says, apropos of nothing other than it’s something he wants and Priestly is the object of the desire, sitting here next to him half in the shade, half in the sun.

“Is that your way of saying you wanna get me naked?” Priestly says, and a moment later he seems surprised at his boldness. He blinks once but holds Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel gives his answer some thought, letting is gaze go from Priestly’s eyes (large, beautiful) to his mouth and back. “I realize now the implications of my statement.” He blinks and looks down at the black bar on Priestly’s arm. “I am okay with that,” he says, and Priestly might be holding his breath just a little when Castiel looks back up. “But I do want to see all your tattoos.”

“Even the embarrassing ones?” Priestly mumbles.

Castiel grins. “Especially those,” he says.

\- -

Priestly reaches out and taps Cas on the shoulder, and it turns into a lingering touch all its own. “Ready to go?” he says, thinking of the bacon.

“You're very 'touchy,'” Cas says, standing when Priestly does and picking up the little box.

Priestly thinks about it as they walk to the Nova, and he wonders what Cas sees. Priestly’s pretty tactile—he bets that’s a Cas-word—especially with his family and friends. He has to wonder how long Cas was flirting with him before, what kind of signals he was sending and what kind Cas was receiving. What he was missing this whole time.

People who don't touch as much might interpret physical closeness and the intimacy of touch differently, might read intimacy into something, especially if the person making the contact doesn’t necessarily mean anything…romantic by it.

Priestly reaches out and rests his hand on the small of Cas’ back as they wind through cars in the dirt lot.

"Guess I'll be less subtle with you," he says, making himself hold Cas' eyes. He kind of loves that he can keep surprising himself, and he kind of loves Cas' _face_ as they go, people all around them.

It takes about a half-second before second thoughts kick in. “Unless it bothers you—I don't—does it?”

"I don't mind, Dean," Cas says, and that throws Priestly a little because he's been doing that, tossing 'Deans' here and there and he doesn’t know how often he does it on purpose.

Priestly unlocks the Nova and puts his bag in the back, Cas nestling the box at his feet and buckling in. Priestly watches his fingers on the seatbelt, and he wants to touch Cas—the back of his hand, or two fingers just on the cheek, there; maybe put his lips under Cas’ jaw, his neck. He bets Cas' cheek is gonna be all sandpapery like his own.

Cas looks over at him, all settled in, and Priestly blinks. He gets belted and starts the car.

\- -

It’s a quiet drive with the windows down, the hot air outside made comfortable by the wind. The radio’s on and Priestly sings softly to parts of songs here and there. Castiel watches him, lets the wind play through his hair and over his skin.

The light is warm and sunny and Priestly’s hair moves with the breeze, his chin stud purple and glinting.

Castiel wants.

Priestly is right there across from him, big and brash and shy and exposed, nervous and brave, ink and metal there to see. It makes Castiel think of the ink he can’t see, of Priestly’s hair without product, of his face flushed, head back against a white pillow.

“Staying over doesn’t have to equate to sex,” he says, surprised at how loud his voice is in the car with the radio and wind, the road noise.

Priestly’s ears go red and Castiel can see him swallow, see his knuckles pale on the wheel. Castiel shuts his mouth and swallows.

“It doesn’t,” Priestly says, voice low and soft, and he glances over maybe a little too long, the road unspooling before them.

Castiel licks his lips. They feel dry. “It doesn’t,” he says, also quiet, and Priestly turns his eyes forward and keeps driving.

\- -

Castiel watches Priestly’s ass in his jeans as they climb the stairs to his apartment. He thinks Priestly knows that he does.

He can’t do otherwise.

\- -

Priestly starts the veggie lasagna because that sounds awesome, and sets Cas to working on additional chopping, mixing, and seasoning. Cas is worried he’ll mess up the flavors, and Priestly stands a little close, tells him he’ll do fine so long as he doesn’t overdo the salt.

Noodles are soaked in warm water and the oven is preheated. Priestly sautés some of the squash on the stove because _flavors,_ and Cas washes his hands and gets the cutting board in a dishwasher rack.

Priestly shows Cas how to layer the cheese and veggies and noodles and add more herbs and taste it to make sure it’s gonna be perfect.

The lasagna is put in the oven, the timer’s set, and hands are washed.

Priestly dries his on one of the two brown towels hanging from the oven door, black and white checks near the bottom edges. They’re older than he is.

Cas looks at the time left to tick down on the microwave, slides his eyes down Priestly’s body, neck to feet. Priestly feels it.

Priestly breathes in, turns his head but drops his eyes at the last moment, looking somewhere along Cas’ torso, maybe his stomach.

He bites the inside of his lip and lets his eyes dance up Cas’ body, linger just a moment over his neck, his collarbones, find his gaze.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he reaches his hand out, but Cas takes it, deliberate and careful.

Priestly thinks about walking to the bedroom, or—maybe to the couches, start there. Maybe watch a movie and cuddle and see where it goes. Maybe—

Maybe Cas will just step up to him here in the kitchen, step right up into his space—he’s warm, very warm and he still smells of vegetables from the market—his nose slides over his shoulder as Cas raises up just a little, comes to inhale at his neck.

Personal space is invaded.

Cas isn’t as tall as he is, isn’t as broad in the shoulders, but his presence is…something else. It’s in the air Priestly breathes.

Priestly glances over at the microwave, swallows. Breathes through his mouth.

Cas leans, a little. His chest touches Priestly’s arm and shoulder and retreat isn’t quite the right word. Priestly doesn’t lean away, their hands between their thighs. He curls his fingers a little.

“We could make an early night of it,” Cas says. The words are a little breathy, murmured against his neck like this.

Priestly shivers.

Cas lets go of his hand to slide it reassuringly up his arm, warm and dry. Cas presses a gentle kiss to his throat and leans back a little, lets some cooler air between them, and Priestly breathes again, easier. Cas’ eyes are as open as always. It’s the kiss more than anything that lets Priestly relax.

It’s just moment, a breather, because Cas’ lips are right there (he thought they looked chapped but now he wants to see if they’re soft) and Priestly is coming to understand he’s feeling want, and it’s a familiar frustration and anticipation mixed with _new_ , with _unknown_ , with exciting and a little terrifying.

It’s not unexpected, not at all, it’s just—now’s not the time to have a sexuality crisis; maybe it’s stupid but it’s kind of a revelation and it throws him.

Priestly turns so he’s facing Cas better, and he takes a breath. He reaches up with both hands and touches Cas—a hand over his collar, one along his jaw. Not like sandpaper, but not smooth-soft.

They don’t have to do anything. They can go to the couch, even sit on separate ones, watch something. Talk. Play footsie in sock-feet.

They can go to Priestly’s bedroom. They can climb the bed and—

Priestly’s brain kind of trips over—all they can do. What he knows, what he thinks he knows. What Cas probably knows and would—can—will show him.

“Are you with me?” Cas says softly, and Priestly blinks, looks into his eyes, and they’re grounding. He doesn’t know if they should be but they are, and he inhales, lets it out.

“Yeah,” he says, and just like that he is.

“Come with me,” Cas says. He can start in the bedroom. Start there, see what happens.

\- -

"Cas," Priestly breathes.

Cas is standing too close, heat coming off his body and Priestly feels sweat break over his upper lip. He wonders if Cas cares about the goatee, new shave or not. If the chin stud will get in the way (it often does). He shivers when Cas watches him lick his lips nervously, eyes dark.

Cas' hand is warm and large over his belly, a gentle, constant pressure. Cas put it on his hip first, slid it over when Priestly leaned back—not retreat. Still not the word, Priestly thinks. He’s letting Cas in, bit by bit, and Cas is taking the space, filling it.

"You've never done this before," Cas says, voice rougher than Priestly’s used to hearing it (that’s saying something), and somehow it makes him feel warmer. It’s not a bad warm, but it’s…very warm.

Priestly’s eyes are half-lidded; he’s still nervous, with his back against the long beams that make up the bed’s ladder, but holy hell, he _wants_ this. He made it to the bedroom and Cas followed him. He let Cas put a hand on him, is letting him keep it there and stand this close. Cas wants this too, and that’s enough for Priestly to feel himself get hard, and he _knows_ Cas is because he looks.

Cas is hard in the jeans Priestly gave him, his socked toes are touching Priestly’s, and Priestly wants to put his hands all over Cas’ torso in that shirt, push it _up_ and see his skin. He wants Cas' hands on him, wants Cas to keep looking at him like that. He wants _Cas._

"Cas," Priestly says, voice surprising him with its hoarseness, "please." He hears himself give a little gasp as the _please_ is whispered against Cas' lips; Cas pushes and leans in, and Priestly thuds against the wood behind him.

Cas is right there and breathing him in. Priestly feels another shot of bravery zing through him and he leans forward, speaking against Cas' mouth. "Touch me, Cas," and bless his fucking soul, Cas pushes his hand over the waist of Priestly's jeans and rubs him right through the denim and just _holds_ him, fingers and palm curling gently around as he presses. Priestly goes a little weak against the ladder rails, makes a soft sound through his teeth, barely-there.

Cas' hand is a gentle pressure, and his lips against Priestly's jaw _are_ soft. Cas breathes against his skin, and it hasn’t failed to make Priestly shiver yet, especially when Cas' fingers squeeze _just enough._ Priestly lets out a sound, lets his head go back. The sound is "Cas." It means yes. It means more. It means please.

Mostly it’s all he can say.

Cas’ mouth is wet on his throat.

His hands are—everywhere.

His body is close, solid, warm.

Retreat still isn’t the right word for this.

Cas fingers get firm and _pop_ the button on his jeans, and it comes to Priestly: surrender.

\- -

Cas knows what he’s doing, Priestly thinks. He rubs and he holds, and he pulls the zipper down. He’s gentle with how he parts the panels of Priestly’s fly, with how he runs his knuckles over the hard line of Priestly’s cock through his boxer briefs.

They’re gray, simple, and comfy. Priestly didn’t even think to wear anything else, and he thinks—tries to think, Cas’ _fingers—_ of wearing something special for Cas, not just for himself.

He’s shaking, and Cas stops watching his hand on Priestly and kisses his jaw instead, gives him a little lick at the corner of his mouth that Priestly instinctually chases. Cas puts tiny, wet little kisses to his lips, the corners and bottom and Priestly can’t quite catch him. He’s too drunk; Cas is almost too much. He’s heavy and supportive all at once, and Priestly lets himself float.

Cas uses his nose to turn Priestly’s head and he kisses him full, making Priestly breathe in and go a little lightheaded. He comes back down, a little clearer, and Cas coaxes his mouth open, teases at his waistband.

Priestly lets him in, uses his hand to find Cas’ wrist and guide him.

Cas slides his hand inside and Priestly moans into the kiss, manages to lick into Cas’ mouth and Cas helps him. Priestly gasps when Cas gently pulls him free—he wasn’t expecting that yet—and Cas releases his mouth, lets Priestly suck in air, and he pulls him through it, pulls very gently and steadily down, moving skin.

His hand, his fist is warm and a little dry, skin softer than Priestly thought it’d be.

Priestly’s fingertips are on Cas’ wrist, and he doesn’t lead him, just rests there; Cas is watching his face but Priestly’s head is back again, against the wood.

Priestly makes himself look forward, look at Cas’ eyes. They’re so blue and wide, and Cas is looking at him like he’s seen something—Priestly has no idea. It’s like he’s looking up at the stars or something.

Cas does something, rubs his thumb over top and then his palm, very carefully, and pulls some moisture back with him. He’s so _gentle_ it’s kind of blowing Priestly’s mind, and he looks down.

Cas’ hand is on him. He can see himself in Cas’ fingers, see Cas slide his fist slowly, slowly down, drawing skin back, and then up again. Priestly _feels it_ down to the core of him, not just in his dick or his belly or the insides of his thighs. It’s warm and shivery and tingly, and Priestly kind of wants to pop the button on Cas’ jeans, at least so Cas can breathe.

“Cas,” he manages, surprised to find his own voice.

“Yeah,” Cas says, and Priestly loves how he sounds. He doesn’t have a word for it, but it’s good. Cas is with him.

He puts his hands on Cas’ shoulders, because his knees are getting weak. It’s stupid, he’s losing it over a hand, but it’s Cas’ hand, it’s Cas touching him and breathing “yeah” at him, and he doesn’t mean to roll his hips but he does and Cas almost has to catch him because it’s too much and not enough.

“Oh,” Priestly says, suddenly breathless, and Cas’ hand speeds up—oh, shit, he’s not ready for that—and he’s kissing him, kissing his neck and his jaw and Priestly can’t kiss him back but he wants to, he just can’t.

“Sorry,” Cas breathes against his open mouth, like he’s as wrecked as Priestly is, and—Priestly should be touching Cas, he should be—his hands twitch and he latches one onto Cas’ hip but he doesn’t get farther than that, his legs going, and Cas is right there, right with him, and somehow he’s able to get him down to his knees, hand on his thigh where his jeans spread out a little too tight, so Priestly leans forward a little and Cas, he’s there.

He gets his hands back on Cas, one on his side, one on a shoulder, and Cas takes him in hand again, sweeping to the top and down and the slide’s easier, smoother, and Priestly leaves one hand on Cas’ shoulder—he can’t let go—and he slaps the other around Cas’ hand, tightens him up, lets Cas drive but shows him how to squeeze a little more, like that, Cas. Like that.

“Cas,” Priestly says. “Cas. Yeah.”

Priestly starts to curl forward, breaths coming in little gasps and he can’t quite get enough air. Cas' hand is steady again, so gentle, so warm, and there’s fingers on the back of his neck pulling him close; Priestly reaches blindly for Cas' arm and ends up finding shirt, fingers gripping the soft fabric.

The bridge of his nose hits Cas' collar, both hands on Cas now, and he takes a big breath—Cas, lingering sweat, warmth, _Cas—_ and he rolls his forehead down and comes, Cas' hand working him through it steady as anything. He gulps air, shudders, going lax as it moves through his whole body in pulse after pulse. It’s one of the gentlest orgasms he's ever had, it’s slow, intense, relentless.

Cas holds him, holds him in his fingers and in his arms, holds him close and warm and careful and Priestly inhales again. Full breaths of Cas' scent, he keeps his face in Cas' neck, part of his forehead touching Cas' skin, his lips sticking to Cas' shirt where they make contact. He shakes a little.

He breathes.

\- -

Priestly is beautiful.

Castiel holds him, strokes his neck and shoulder through the tiny shudders that run through him as aftershocks, gentling him down and keeping his hand on him as he softens, keeping all of him warm and close.

He presses kisses to Priestly’s neck, some sweat broken out there. He feels Priestly’s warm breath against his shirt, his warm, soft skin in his palm, something warmer over his hand and fingers.

The scent is a little sharp, and Castiel licks at Priestly’s neck without meaning to, makes it as gentle as he can, and Priestly hums, somewhere in his chest so Castiel feels it.

He doesn’t know how long he holds him, pets the back of his neck and gently scratches where the tail of the mohawk is. How many times he kisses the side of Priestly’s mouth. What he wants to whisper into the skin behind his ear.

Castiel’s own erection has lessened at Priestly’s resolution; the atmosphere of their little space at the foot of the big bed is intimate, secret, private. It’s small and it’s theirs, and Castiel wants to be selfish with it, doesn’t want to bring it back to urgency even as conflicting sensations war in his belly.

“Cas,” Priestly manages, and his voice—Castiel can listen to Priestly’s after-sex voice forever, can soak it into himself and let it warm him through.

“Dean,” he says, “are you all right?”

Priestly takes a shaky breath and nods against his shoulder, moving his shirt around. He tries to say something and has to clear his throat a couple times, and his voice is still deliciously rough. “Yeah…”

Castiel carefully slides his hand around to Priestly’s jaw and moves back, urges Priestly to raise his head. He supports him where he can, and Priestly’s eyes linger on his mouth—Castiel thinks it’s more that he’s having trouble meeting his eyes than anything else, but then when Priestly does, they seem to lose a little time again.

The light is coming in sideways behind the pulled curtain along the window, and Priestly’s eyes are a little paler-looking, a little ethereal. In less than an hour the angle of the sun will change and the moment will be gone but they have it here and now.

Priestly glances down where Castiel still has him in hand, and the light makes his come shine too, makes Castiel gently run his knuckles over Priestly’s arm again without releasing him. It’s strangely intimate to see it on their skin.

Priestly’s breathing has evened out enough that there’s a tension released when he looks back up, something in his face smoothed out. Castiel runs his thumb along his jaw, feeling stubble there. It’s rough.

Castiel leans forward, slowly, and Priestly doesn’t move away; he presses a dry kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Priestly closes his eyes.

Castiel gently loosens his fingers and one of Priestly’s hands falls to his wrist, holding. Castiel strokes the backs of two fingers along the inside of Prieslty’s arm, letting his hand support Priestly’s softened and still-hot flesh until it rests against his underwear, and Castiel turns his palm so he rests over him, keeping him warm.

Priestly absently pets Castiel’s arm, and they stay like this for a while.

\- -

Priestly tends to the lasagna and Cas kind of hovers; he keeps taking deep breaths and his stomach makes a food-grumble noise that brings a soft grin to Priestly’s face. He makes Cas tear up romaine for a light side salad.

They eat at the little table, and Priestly kind of thinks he should have put a candle out. Cas is impressed with his plating—(“It’s lasagna, Cas, it just…sits there”)—and compliments the flavor at least three times. Priestly says it’s Cas’ magic eggplant.

Priestly thinks it’s just a shade too moist, because he didn’t roast and drain the eggplant like he should have, but it tastes pretty damned good.

Cas makes eyes at him across the plates, and Priestly pushes a piece of crisp romaine around in cheese and sauce and parmesan crumbles, licking the fork after he puts it in his mouth and crunches. He’s not really doing it to tease; something about Cas just makes him do shit like this.

Priestly bites his lip and doesn’t know he does it till Cas watches his mouth, and then he licks because Cas is watching his mouth.

Priestly looks at Cas through hooded eyes because he’s still on a low buzz from Cas’ hand and Cas…Cas didn’t come, and he wants to make Cas feel what he did, wants to bring him there and hold him while he flies apart.

Priestly doesn’t know what he’s doing but he’s gonna do it anyway, because Cas makes him do crazy shit like this.

\- -

Cas puts their dishes in the dishwasher after rinsing, and Priestly’s putting the leftovers away when Cas goes for the pan. He insists on washing that in the sink and has to be convinced to let it soak—Priestly’s pretty sure the crusted cheese won the argument more than he did.

They’ve got a bit of a food coma to work off, or at least Priestly does, but he’s not gonna let Cas get away without getting his hands on him. He remembers Cas is staying here, with him, in the big bed (oh _shit_ did he change the sheets, yes he did, it was a bitch, he remembers now—is the bathroom clean? Cas won’t mind, Cas is here), and that makes him feel stupidly gooshy inside.

Priestly drapes his plaid shirt over a chair, puts the stereo on shuffle (it’s old and takes forever to load a CD) and pulls Cas on the couch with him to and he tells him about his tapioca pudding recipe because he’s hit with a killer craving even though he’s full, full and warm and happy.

“I like the brand at Costco,” Cas says, so hey, he likes tapioca pudding, that’s cool. “It’s pretty good for store-bought.”

“Harry’s,” Priestly says. “Normally I’d give you shit, but must confess that I like that one too.” Priestly has Cas up against his side, and it’s kind of like the bonfire except neither one of them is high and it’s just them, on Priestly’s couch.

Something that is definitely _not_ Priestly’s comes on, some weird-ass indie shit, and Cas actually gives him a _look._

“Sam,” Priestly groans. He has to lean away and grab the remote from the little table and hit skip. Discs start switching noisily, and he kind of shyly scoots back up close to Cas. He’s just putting his arm back over the couch (he doesn’t have to make a move, right? He can just do it?) and his fingers settle on to Cas’ far shoulder when the stereo starts up again. Cas looks over at it, and Priestly feels his face flush.

“Bob Seger?” Cas says, and he’s totally fighting a smirk and losing.

Priestly feels a stupid smile take over his face and he shrugs, leaning closer.

Cas looks at him. “Dean,” he says, and Priestly feels his face go a little still, “are you putting the moves on me?”

Priestly feels something warm in his belly go a little hotter, spread through to his limbs.

“Yeah,” he says, breathy, and then he ruins it again with a big smile, eyebrows joining in. “Is it working?”

Cas huffs at him, and then he breaks into this big gummy smile that is just endearing as hell, and the way his eyes crinkle up kind of takes Priestly’s breath away.

He has to lean in for a kiss, and it’s more gravity pulling him in than anything. He doesn’t expect Cas to pull him in and _down,_ and his hand flies out to brace them. Cas’ mouth is warm and they breathe each other in, and Priestly’s made out with girls on his couch before (well, a _long time ago)_ but it’s never gone horizontal so fast, and even so it’s not rushed, it’s comfortable.

Cas is very solid. All people are, when it comes to it, and Priestly’s only ever been with girls and he’s gonna compare because he can’t switch that part of him off, but he can push it to the back. He can notice how Cas’ chest isn’t soft curves, but has its soft spots; his arms are strong and Priestly thrills when they wrap around him. One of his legs comes up and Priestly huffs a noise between them, licks gently to get Cas to open his mouth. Cas is ahead of him, and Priestly moans when Cas gently sucks, pushes his fingers through Cas’ hair and tries to make it crazy.

It’s slow and easy, warm and wet and Cas has shadow that’s a little scratchy but Priestly finds it hot as fuck. He burns his lips a little, but he’ll figure it out; Cas’ jaw fits in his hands really nice, and his body is supportive and fantastic underneath him.

Cas runs his hands over Priestly’s shoulders, and his thigh rubs against Priestly’s, sometimes up to his hip. He’s starting to get that Cas is pretty flexible, and that’s…that’s a thought.

The couch isn’t made for this, not for Priestly and somebody maybe an inch shorter, all legs and crazy hair.

Priestly jumps a little when Cas bites along his jaw, and he buries his face in Cas’ neck and breathes him in, clutching at him with his fingers, just squeezing whatever’s under his hands. He runs them along Cas’ arms, finds one on his chest and feels Cas up a little more, uses his palm to find a nipple under his shirt. He’s careful, but—Cas likes that, oh he likes that, and Priestly grins, licking his neck because he feels reckless.

Cas drops a hand on his ass, and Priestly gasps a little when he’s squeezed in turn. Subtle Cas is not, especially when he kind of pulls Priestly in.

Cas is hard, and Priestly’s maybe getting there, maybe not; he’s got this whole-body focus on Cas and it’s not so much about his own dick as what Cas looks and feels like under him. Priestly sort of twists and rubs a hip against Cas’ erection as gentle as he can, and Cas pulls—harder, he’s saying, so Priestly does—and he lets loose this tiny groan. It kind of blows Priestly’s mind a little.

“Cas,” he says, oddly short of breath, “are you gay?”

Cas blinks his eyes open, hand still on Priestly’s ass, and he kind of pets it absently. Priestly blinks—stupid question to ask right _now—_ but Cas just looks at Priestly like he does, like he’s trying to understand something.

“I’m not a big believer in labels,” Cas says, voice rough—Priestly should look at his eyes, but his own fall to Cas’ mouth. “Pansexual might be closest, were I to choose one.”

“What’s that mean?” Priestly says absently, leaning down for a quick peck of Cas’ upper lip, and making himself look Cas in the eye.

Cas’ other hand comes up and runs down the side of Priestly’s face, and he leans into it. “It means I’m attracted to whomever catches my attention, whether they’re male or female or perhaps don’t subscribe to either of those,” he says, “that I’m not limited by gender or gender identity.”

Priestly backs up a little, and he likes the heat, wants to chase it, but the cool air between them is a welcome breath. “Huh,” he says.

He settles his body a little more comfortably over Cas (oops, rubs him again—Cas grunts) and says, “That’s pretty neat.”

Cas’ face does something weird before settling on this strange little smile that makes Priestly self-conscious, because it’s kind of you-are-strange-yet-I-find-you-adorable. Priestly’s face flushes in Cas’ hand and he ducks his head a little, running a thumb over Cas’ chest.

“Do you have a preference?” Cas asks, and that’s open-ended, simple. Cas just looks at him, and Priestly swallows.

“I—I guess I’m…bi?” he says, and he’s a little envious, Cas not caring about labels, being strong enough to be weird and different and be _Cas_ without giving two shits about what society thinks.

Cas touches Priestly’s lips, the side of his nose. He runs a finger over Priestly’s eyebrow, and Priestly’s whole body is tingling.

“You are Dean,” he says, “and you’re beautiful.” Priestly’s breath leaves him. He loses a moment, and Cas is just there, patient, warm, breathing.

“Cas,” Priestly says, quiet. “Can I take you to bed?”

Cas touches his face some more, and then he smiles again, big and weird and bright.

Priestly awkwardly gets off of him and helps him up off the couch, pulls him to his feet and then pulls him in, because he’s there and he’s freaking patient with Priestly, so Priestly kisses him, face in his hands, slow.

Cas runs his hands along Priestly’s arms, fingers over the backs of his hands, and when Priestly leans back Cas kisses him on the cheek.

Priestly wants to take him to the bed, wants to kiss him—hell, wants to get his shirt off and just start there, see how much skin he can cover—and he wants to touch him everywhere, wants to learn what Cas likes. He wants to cook for Cas and find a favorite meal, wants to bring it to Cas at the shop when he’s leaning over the books, wants to take Cas on aimless road trips in the Nova, wants to see him laugh—really laugh.

Priestly takes Cas’ hand and leads him to the bedroom down the short hall, and thinks he might be in trouble.

Priestly pulls his socks off at the foot of the ladder, tosses them just under the papasan. Cas is barefoot in jeans and it’s a fantastic look for him, especially the comfy gray tee and crazy hair. “Up,” Priestly says, gently slapping Cas’ ass on impulse. Cas narrows his eyes at him and it’s kind of cute.

Priestly can’t help but bite his lip and he touches the small of Cas’ back, urging him to the ladder. Cas’ face goes a little sultry and it should be silly but it just makes Priestly’s heart beat a little flutter, especially when Cas opens his jeans and lets them slough to his feet. He kicks them to the papasan and reaches up for the railings.

He lets his hand drag softly over Castiel’s butt as he climbs, lets his thigh slide through his hand, cotton and skin and hair. He uses his other hand to fumble his jeans open and he piles them with Cas’, follows him up. Cas is still crawling up the bed, and Priestly crowds him a little, puts a palm down near Cas’ calf, shoulder brushing his hip.

He feels a little crazy when he ducks to nip the back of Cas’ thigh because it’s _there_ and bared by his black boxer briefs, fitted and sexy.

Cas huffs and shoves at Priestly’s head. He flops over hard, and Priestly braces himself over his legs, puts a knee forward. He watches Cas’ eyes, hot and dark, as he moves over him, feels something like arousal curling in his gut.

Cas’ eyes fall to stare at his underwear, and Priestly feels a shot of—something, self-consciousness and something else he doesn’t know. He forgot he’s wearing what he’s wearing, and he’s only ever—only before one other person and that was nearly a decade ago, when he first learned he might like this.

Cas is in his bed, lying over the comforter, an elbow on one of the pillows and a knee up, taking in Priestly’s gray tank and purple-maroon panties ( _sangria,_ when he’d ordered them) and Priestly feels exposed but holy fuck he feels sexy too, Cas looking at him like that.

Priestly moves forward a little more, and Cas doesn’t lean back, doesn’t give him space. It takes Priestly a second to realize Cas is meeting him, letting him move at his own pace.

Priestly has no idea what he’s doing when he reaches for Cas’ shirt and pushes it up. He knows what he wants, and he thinks he can wing it.

He gazes down at Cas’ skin as it’s exposed, and that’s got to be part of Cas’ coloring, because he’s not tanned by the sun, not just yet, but he’s darker than Priestly and he leans down, puts an open-mouthed kiss to Cas’ hipbone above his underwear. He inhales, nips again because skin.

Cas’ hand settles in his hair, and he moves his fingers through it, catching a little on the light surf paste he put in it, and he doesn’t guide Priestly any direction in particular. Priestly pushes his shirt up further but he goes lower, gets a little brave and tugs the waistband of his boxer briefs down enough to lick at more hipbone because it turns him on to hear the sound Cas makes when he does it.

He kisses over to his belly, flat, flatter than Priestly can probably ever manage, noses over a vein in his abdomen. He raspberries near his bellybutton to hear Cas snort and feel him twitch, grab at Priestly’s shoulders. Cas kicks a little and Priestly grins into his skin, kissing higher, a little tongue with each brush and slide of his lips.

He veers to the left because that little mark by Cas’ nipple has dogged him since he first saw it, and his mouth is open a little too wide when he comes down, but he learns fast. He closes his mouth over Cas’ nipple and is gentle with his teeth, hard with his tongue, and he suckles enough to make Cas arch and grab his hair again.

His other hand’s found its way to Cas’ hip and he holds him, loves how he can still span Cas’ side with it, and he rears up and pushes at Cas’ shirt.

“Take it off,” he says, surprised at how breathless he is, and Cas just looks up at him for a moment, looking at his face.

Priestly breathes through his mouth and he watches Cas tug at his shirt, but then his eyes fall and catch on his underwear and the hard ridge rising under them, and his stomach swoops. Priestly's not hard, not ready-hard, but blood’s pooled heavy and hot in his groin.

Priestly glances up at Cas—shirtless, sex-hair everywhere—and puts his hands on Cas’ thighs. Cas starts to spread them and Priestly moves so he’s not straddling Cas anymore, puts his knees between Cas’ instead. He’s gentle as he pushes up against hair and skin, thumbs sliding to the inside, up to the short legs of the underwear and—higher.

Priestly rubs the heels of his palms over Cas’ hips, lets his thumbs frame Cas’ cock, doesn’t touch anything in the center just yet. He tries to be gentle but he thinks he’s too greedy; Cas makes this noise of frustration, but he’s staring at Priestly staring at Cas, and he’s—he’s letting Priestly do this.

Priestly’s hands gentle, and he moves over one of Cas’ legs and lays next to him, all along his body. His tank’s still on and Cas runs his hand up one of his arms, squeezes his shoulder. Priestly lets his hand fall on Cas through his underwear, and the line of his dick is hot under his palm.

Priestly leans in to kiss Cas’ mouth as he carefully learns the shape of Cas, instinctively reaches lower only to find the soft weight of Cas’ balls there, and he cups them gently. Cas opens his free leg out a little more, the other brushing between Priestly’s. He kisses back, sliding his hand down Priestly’s arm to show him, higher, a little firmer, there.

Priestly touches him and kisses him, lets Cas’ other hand move his head, lets his torso rub along Cas’ body. He lays his palm low over Cas’ belly, teases fingers under the waistband and then he’s sliding inside.

Cas feels hot and warm and a little tacky, soft and hard and familiar and foreign. Priestly’s careful not to catch on his hair (he feels pretty groomed—he has to wonder if Cas does that on purpose or if he’s just lucky) and he wraps fingers around Cas’ cock. It’s not perfect and he bumps Cas’ balls once a little too firmly, enough to make Cas jump and still; Priestly breathes “sorry” into his mouth and holds him, squeezes gently.

Cas reaches down to push at his boxer briefs and helps Priestly maneuver his cock up and out, and then Priestly’s hand starts stroking on its own. The skin moves over Cas’ cock and he gasps, rolls his hips right up into Priestly’s grip and it’s stupidly fucking hot.

Priestly bends a little to kiss whatever part of Cas is under him, his throat and collarbone, under his jaw, nosing to lick behind his ear. He remembers what Cas did and slides his palm over the head of Cas’ dick to get it wetter, and he has to look because Cas is _wet,_ and then he gets a little lost in staring at how Cas’ skin moves, the head disappearing and coming back out in his skin, his fist.

Cas gets wetter and Priestly gets him wet, lets go to move a thumb through what’s on Cas’ belly, and he watches Cas’ dick in the air, a little bit thrown by how attractive he finds it, how he wants to touch it and likes how it feels in his hand.

He knows Cas is staring at his face, his lip because he’s biting it as he reaches and takes Cas in hand again, and Cas shows him the pace, the pressure. Priestly knows what he likes and he teases fingers just under the head, _that_ spot, and Cas is a fan.

Priestly finds the right speed and stroke and moves his upper body over Cas to kiss him hard, to bite his lower lip and suck. He licks and breathes and Cas groans, makes more noises as he moves into Priestly’s hand. The mattress barely moves with him, and Priestly’s in his bed with Cas, is having sex in his bed with Cas and he moans a little too.

Cas moves restlessly and his leg brushes against Priestly’s groin, but he’s still not really hard. Cas lets Priestly drive but it’s only so he can rest his hand over Priestly’s hip and push fingers into the strap of the panties, and Priestly tries to kiss him but Cas is at the point where all he can do is breathe.

“You’re so fucking hot, Cas,” Priestly says, words coming to him as they fall from his lips, and Cas’ heavy-lidded eyes meet his and lock there, fingers just holding on to the silky fabric over Priestly’s skin.

“Dean,” he says, and Priestly feels something break in his chest.

Priestly’s used to looking at someone’s face when they hit that moment, at least from this angle, and Cas is so beautiful like this it’s humbling.

At the first warm, wet touch Priestly looks down—he forgot, he forgot that was gonna happen—and he watches Cas spill over his belly and Priestly’s hand, and he remembers to keep his hand moving, watches the pace and tries to work Cas through it. He probably doesn’t get it entirely right but Cas doesn’t seem to care, not making any noises but for gasping, his hips jerking a little, and Priestly drags his hand down to the base and holds a little tighter, _feels_ Cas’ dick moving and pulsing in his palm, watches the hot come land on Cas’ skin.

The scent’s a little sharp, different and not from Priestly’s own, earlier. He carefully slides his grip up, coaxing a last, lazy spill, pushing the skin back over the head of Cas’ dick, and he lets go gently to rest it against Cas’ stomach. He touches the come—he doesn’t know why—runs fingers through it, rubs it against Cas’ skin.

He looks up at Cas, panting and shuddering, and he closes the small distance to kiss him very carefully, corner of his mouth, his cheek. He kisses his eyelid—he doesn’t know why—his cheek, and then Cas tilts his chin and meets his mouth.

Cas is trying, he’ll give him that; he accepts Prieslty’s kisses and pants into his mouth.

When Cas’ eyes eventually open and he comes back, Priestly gives him a nervous, happy smile. Cas looks at him for a while, and his whole face relaxes into this tired and happy look of satisfaction.

“Hello Dean,” he rasps, and Priestly huffs a little laugh.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, moving in for another lazy, gentle kiss.

\- -

Priestly puts his lips under Castiel’s pectoral and makes a little ‘pop’ noise before he moves down the bed, and Castiel smiles lazily at him. Priestly winks and climbs down one-handed (he’s tall enough to manage it, Castiel supposes) and Castiel lays back, letting his blood settle, electricity still zinging along his nerves.

He runs a hand down his torso, encountering the still-warm mess he made, and he waits for Priestly to come back with a wet cloth—a _warm_ cloth, bless him—and he reaches for it but Priestly gently nudges his hand away, stroking the cloth over his skin.

He does let Castiel help him with his softened cock, and they clean their hands before Priestly carelessly throws the washcloth over the side of the railing to the bare carpet.

“That’s disgusting,” Castiel says, and Priestly makes a face.

“Yeah, it is,” he says, and clambers back down the bed. Castiel smiles at the ceiling.

He’s rearranging himself safely in his underwear when Priestly climbs back up a second time, and tugs at the comforter under Castiel. He raises up and they negotiate themselves underneath it and the sheets, Priestly tentatively moving close.

Castiel turns and curls into him, resting a hand on his hip, knees touching. He gently runs a finger along the strap of the panties, petting his thumb along bone. Priestly gingerly reaches for his shoulder, then under to his side, and Castiel tucks his head into his own bent elbow. He watches Priestly’s face for a while, and he squeezes his hip a little, a question.

Priestly blinks, and then he seems to understand. He smiles ruefully. “Twenty-eight, Cas,” he says. “Not happening.”

Castiel smiles, but he doesn’t let his hand wander. “Thirty-two,” he counters. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Priestly grins at him and leans in for a kiss, and they shift around a little while they do it. Castiel moves to be more under Priestly, and Priestly throws a leg over (that seems to be a comfort thing for him).

“This okay?” Priestly says, lips moving against Castiel’s neck.

He’s warm and big and brave, and Castiel pushes his forehead into Priestly’s chest, tucking himself under his chin.

“This is lovely,” he says, getting sleepy.

 

**MORNING STAR**

_In which we see faces old and new_

Jo notices the change in Priestly in about point two seconds. While she knew it was coming (or at least would have put a big bet on it), it still catches her by surprise.

Priestly tends to do things whole-hog, so maybe she shouldn’t be, but seeing it is different than expecting it.

Priestly has a bounce in his step. He’s got a brightly-colored green stud in his chin to match his extremely green and tall hair. He’s wearing his kilt and boots and one of his favorite shirts, and he’s smiling at customers.

“Good weekend?” Jo says lightly, accepting a card and swiping it through their new register and passing the receipt over the counter.

Priestly glances at her, blinks, and then turns back to the griddle, scraping and tossing peppers and beef.

He’s grinning but trying to hide it, his ears bright red.

Jo helps the next person in line.

\- -

Tuesday is busy, the first flush of hungry tourists and parents with buzzing kids trying to beat the seasonal rush. It’s the second Tuesday of the month, so Cas isn’t gonna be in, and Priestly doesn’t quite know what he feels about that. It’s kind of a break, lets him process, and yet he still glances at the door every time the bell dings.

Tuesday’s busy and Priestly likes busy days, but Monday—Monday was awesome.

Priestly thinks about how he and Cas had fooled around a little more while he toasts bread and moves sizzling toppings across the griddle. There was nothing that equated to actual sex; mostly it’d been a long, lazy morning in bed with slow touches, careful, gentle hands in the soft light. Some kissing, a little bit of making out that calmed down into sleepy cuddles and that rolled into a nice nap. Priestly smiles at the memory of Cas’ hands, his sleepy, tiny smile.

Priestly had eventually dragged Cas out of bed—Cas is _so_ not a morning person, and it turns out if you let him sleep in he turns into a frigging _bear—_ and into a shower that they both needed. Cas had kind of dragged him inside in turn. That had felt like taking another step he maybe wasn’t ready for, but it had been really easy to drop his clothes and step into the tub after Cas, to pull the curtains and help him get the water to the right temperature.

Cas had been gentle all weekend with the exception of the shower, where he was grumpy and wet instead. That somehow made it easier for Priestly to tentatively soap up his back and ask him to pass the shampoo.

Cas touched him a little bit, washed Priestly’s back _(and_ groped his ass, so that was kind of neat), hands absently rubbing over Priestly’s shoulders while he shampooed. Priestly kept his eyes shut or on the walls for the most part.

The rest of Monday had been just as lazy, leftovers eaten on the couch, sitting and then lying close together watching _Iron Giant,_ petting Cas’ hair and letting him snuggle as much as he wanted.

Cas had to take the bus when had to leave in the late afternoon. Priestly didn’t want him to, but Cas had reminded him the Nova was at Bobby’s and kissed him sweetly before thanking him for the food and company. Priestly had stood at his door, kind of waving, until Cas was obscured by the trees in front of the parking lot.

“Already parked behind the shop,” Bobby’d said when he'd called, and Priestly had breathed out. “See you tomorrow.”

And thus Priestly starts his Tuesday tying on a clean apron and getting right to it, taking a breather when the first rush peters out. He’s still buzzing a little from Monday, and from Jo poking him about it, and his stomach grumbles when he makes his sixth Philly so his second breather is spent wolfing down a mini-one he makes for himself. He sets another aside for Jo because he’s a good brother.

He comes back to the front with washed hands in time to see a guy come in that arrests the attention of just about everyone in the shop.

He’s of average height, more or less, but it’s the mods and the ink and the clothes and that’s just what Priestly can see. The shop gets its share of colorful people, and Priestly _works_ here, but there’s something very different about this guy.

He’s got some kind of pagan-looking symbol wrapping around half his neck, a simple yet frankly demonic-looking trident thing on a forearm, black jewelry in his ears and lips and an eyebrow, messy hair with remnants of bleach and blue-green color in it. He’s staring right at Priestly.

“So,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly normal, whatever that means. Priestly doesn’t know what he expected. “You’re Castiel’s new friend.” He says it with a little teeth.

Jo’s eyebrows shoot up, and Priestly straightens a little.

“You are…?” he says carefully, sort of looking at the guy side-on.

The guy smiles, and it’s not a bad smile, but his eyes are a little hard. There’s a vibe to him that Priestly’s instincts are pinging on—it’s not a bad one either, and it’s kind of familiar.

“The black sheep,” he says, with that same smile. “Brother. _Oldest_ brother.” He steps forward and reaches out a hand. “Luci.” He pauses, and smirks. “Lucifer, if you prefer.”

Priestly blinks, looking down at the hand presented before taking it. The grip is easygoing, and it relaxes him a little up until _oldest brother_ catches up to his brain and he has to swallow.

“Jo,” Priestly says, his eyes not leaving ‘Luci’s,’ “I’m taking lunch.”

\- -

Lucifer orders a shake and fries, and watches Priestly hang up his apron. His shirt says ‘Surf Naked’ in block letters. “Nice kilt,” he says appreciatively, and Priestly slides into the booth across from him.

“Thanks,” Priestly says, and his voice is a little deeper than Lucifer expected. He dips a fry into his chocolate shake and takes a bite.

“Blackwatch is an open tartan,” Lucifer says around the fry, and Priestly nods.

“S’why I wear it.”

Lucifer gives him a lazy salute with a fresh fry. He offers one and gestures at the shake, and the kid looks at him like he’s crazy.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he says, raising an eyebrow, and score another point for the kid, because he takes a fry and dips it into the shake and takes the bite.

His eyes get big and he looks at Lucifer as he chews. “Dude,” he says, mouth full.

Lucifer winks.

“So…this the interrogation?” Priestly says, after he swallows.

“If you like,” Lucifer says. “I don’t need to ask any questions to get my measure of you.”

Priestly gives him a kind of aborted nod. “’Kay,” he says. “I actually think I’d be a lot less nervous if you asked me something.”

Lucifer finds himself smiling a little; he kind of likes this guy. “Castiel doesn’t know I’m here. Our mutual relation Gabriel let the cat out of the bag, and I had to come see for myself.”

Priestly narrows his eyes a little, and Lucifer pushes both the fries and shake to be more between them. Priestly waits a moment before taking one and dipping it into the shake.

“I don’t chase down my sister’s ‘new friends,’” Priestly says, and Lucifer raises a lazy eyebrow.

“You would if she were serious about them,” he says evenly, and he lets it sink in.

“Cas—how do you know it’s serious?” he says, tone going a little defensive.

Lucifer calmly leans forward. “Isn’t it?”

Priestly sucks his lower lip into his mouth, clearly a habit. His eyes go over the jewelry on Lucifer’s face, the ink on his body. Lucifer waits until Priestly’s looking near his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

“Holy—” Priestly straightens. “Dude.”

Lucifer grins around his tongue, independently twisting the tips before taking it back into his mouth.

“Okay,” Priestly says. “That’s kind of freaky-cool.” He seems to collect himself a little, takes a breath. “So,” he says. “Cas.”

Lucifer waits for him to continue.

“I like him,” Priestly says, meeting his eyes. “I like him a lot. But we’re pretty…new,” he says. He licks his lips, and he’s gearing up to say something else when the young woman at the register says his name softly.

Priestly looks over Lucifer’s shoulder and his entire face lights up.

Lucifer twists to watch unabashedly as Priestly rises from the booth to greet a striking brunette with dark eyes and a lovely, lovely smile.

“Hey, Lis,” Priestly says, tone warm, the set of his shoulders speaking far more than his words.

Lucifer sits forward.

“Priestly,” she says (Lisa, at an educated guess), her voice a pleasant shade, brimming with warmth—

They embrace one another, and it’s hard to call it anything but intimate. When they pull back it isn’t far, and it’s as though Priestly’s forgotten Lucifer’s there.

“How _are_ you?” Lisa says, before her eyes land on Priestly’s labret. Lucifer watches her face, sees her widen her eyes at something significant.

Lisa looks up at Priestly and gently taps a finger against her chin. Her face very clearly says ‘hope,’ and Priestly’s posture becomes curiously bashful.

He doesn’t say anything, but the way he ducks his head, mohawk exaggerating his motions, makes Lisa grin outright. Lucifer thinks she is beautiful indeed, her smile so wide. Muscles pull at his cheeks reflexively.

“Cas,” Priestly simply says, and Lucifer holds his breath.

Lisa’s eyes, her face say something else, and Priestly shakes his head, touching her shoulder. His palm covers it entirely. “Not Cassie,” he says.

Lisa is very patient, Lucifer thinks, watching her open face.

Priestly steeling himself is a very visible thing; against what Lucifer can’t say. He can look at Lisa and see that this is a woman of strong opinions, that she is smart and confident, and that she will never judge Priestly poorly. She knows him on a level not many others likely do.

“His name’s Cas,” Priestly says, and just the words leaving his body make his spine straighten up and his shoulders level out. Lucifer feels the tiniest stirring of pride, his little brother’s name coming out loud and clear.

Lisa blinks, her expression like a star being born. “Oh my god,” she breathes, and at this Lucifer sees red steal up the whole of Priestly’s neck. “Your face when you said that,” she finishes, a hand coming up to cup Priestly’s jaw when he tries to duck his head again. Lisa glances over Priestly’s shoulder and Lucifer can’t help but give a cheeky little wave.

Priestly follows her gaze and scowls at him. Apparently his ‘innocent’ needs work.

“That’s not Cas,” Lisa says, and Priestly very definitively says “No.” She gives this little breathy laugh as she pulls Priestly down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. She turns her head and holds his face against hers. “I’m happy for you, babe,” she says, very quiet. Lucifer watches them both breathe, existing in the same space as one another for a moment in time.

Lisa and Priestly move away from each other easily. Lucifer can never know their story, but their history is clear as day. It’s in the way Lisa’s hands linger on Priestly’s arms, and the way he holds her shoulder.

“I was gonna swing by and see if you wanted to have lunch, but if you’re busy…” Lisa looks over at Lucifer in the booth, and he stands smoothly.

“Lucifer,” he says, offering his hand. “Castiel’s brother.”

Lisa’s eyebrows go up as she shakes his hand without an ounce of hesitation. “Oh,” she says, glancing over at Priestly as she releases him. “Do you need rescuing?” she says, as Priestly makes a noise of objection.

Lucifer smiles; he likes her.

\- -

Lisa is as beautiful as ever, the years making her more so. Priestly feels a shadow of something in his chest, a distant pang, and it’s memory and scar both. She steals Lucifer’s fries (to be fair he pushes them at her too) and sits on Priestly’s side of the booth. Moral support, maybe.

It should be a little awkward, but somehow she and Lucifer have no problem chatting, and it’s this bizarre getting-to-know-you and then for whatever freaking reason Lisa thinks it’s cool to share embarrassing anecdotes about Priestly’s early days at the shop, so he has to up the ante by telling Lucifer about the time Lisa was first mixing aromatherapy stuff for her classes and accidentally opened something rancid that made everybody leave the room. They finish the fries and Lucifer repossesses his shake to finish it off.

“Yoga?” Lucifer says, a _tone_ at the word. “That requires considerable patience.”

Lisa shrugs one shoulder. “It’s what I want to do with my life,” she says easily, and Priestly kind of envies her.

He remembers Lisa being willing to take a chance on him when he was still finding himself, still raw and new to a lot of things. She’d bought him that crazy pink chin stud (it was a jewel, she couldn’t find metal that shade) and she’d told him that he wasn’t daring _‘them’_ to judge him—he was daring himself to go out there and not care.

He looks across the table at Lucifer, and listens to Lisa tell them about her life now. He thinks about Cas being open and blunt and willing to roll with Priestly being Priestly. He remembers Cassie’s character, strong and unapologetic, very much her own woman. Lisa and her confidence that comes back even after she loses it, her willingness to take risks and grab them by the horns.

Cas. Cas and his unselfconscious, _goofy_ -looking smile.

(It’s possible Priestly has a type.)

Lucifer is surprisingly easy to get along with, and he’s different, but Cas is an entirely unique color and Priestly feels okay about it. Lucifer seems to warm to him pretty quickly, and he has to beg off to get back to work but somehow Lucifer ends up being invited to the next bonfire (date as yet undecided) and Lisa promises to call and tell him about “Matt” when she hugs him goodbye.

Lucifer doesn’t shake his hand again when he stands to leave, but he eyes Priestly in a way that makes him feel weighed.

“See you around,” he says, no ‘don’t hurt my baby brother or I’ll sneak into your room at night and strangle you’ or anything else fluffy.

He reties his apron and cleans up the booth, washes his hands and gets back to work.

 

**WORTH EVERY NICKEL**

_In which Priestly does not have unlimited messaging_

Priestly twists his new (old) phone around in his hand, the black screen reflecting part of his face every time it flips.

(Sammy’d gotten himself some fancy new whatever, all-touchscreen, really different, some friend at school had hooked him up or something, and had given him this…thing.

It’s a squarish weird little berry-something with eighty billion keys and there was nothing wrong with Priestly’s old flip, but here he is.)

Flip. Glints of his nose and chin, hints of color from his hair. Priestly is fully aware he’s being ridiculous about this. Flip. Cas likes him. Flip. He sure as hell better like him if he puts his hands on Priestly's body. Cas smiles at him, an itty little smirk—like he isn't used to it; maybe not as soft as someone who smiles all the time but all the more genuine because of it.

Hell, Sammy says Cas likes him. Sammy is smart. Flip.

Still. Priestly knows Cas can do better, and he knows that that train of thought is a sign that he’s being whiny and insecure. Flip. Cas makes him want to _try,_ and that is something. Priestly didn't know he was ready for a relationship until—

Until he’s in one. With Cas.

This brings him to his current dilemma: does he call Cas first?

He stops flipping and looks at the phone in his hand.

Fuck it. He wants to talk to Cas. They'd already barreled headlong into the sex part, so texting him—Priestly can do that.

 **Me:** Hey Castiel

Priestly frowns and realizes he’s never typed his name before, not in this phone or his old one. He taps and makes this phone learn 'Cas.'

 **Me:** Hey Cas  
**Castiel:** Hello Dean Priestly Winchester.  
**Me:** Ass  
**Me:** How is Castiel James Novak today  
**Me:** I miss you

Priestly blinks at his fingers, which had just tapped and sent. There’s a pause, and he pictures Cas staring at his phone. Cas doing something else entirely like shopping for bread and looking for the organic stuff while granola-types move around him in the store, busy with their lives.

 **Castiel:** Do you want to call?

Priestly starts, feels himself flush. He has no idea what to say.

 **Castiel:** You're holding your phone. You can in fact call me.

Apparently Cas does. Priestly would love that about him if he wasn't being a dick about it.

 **Me:** Don't make fun of me, Cas

Cas' response is almost immediate, and now Priestly can almost see him—maybe his living room, not buying bread or talking to someone else at a coffee shop, but holding his own phone. Staring at it, just the same way he looks at Priestly like he is the absolute focus of his attention.

 **Castiel:** Not about this, Dean.

Priestly swallows. He clicks and taps.

 **Me:** Cas  
**Me:** Miss you.  
**Castiel:** Miss you too, Dean. Wish I was there.  
**Me:** This is stupid

Priestly stares at his phone for a while without sending the incomplete text, wondering if Cas is waiting for him, and then he sees Cas’ last message.

 **Me:** I’d like that.  
**Castiel:** Wish I was there. I mean that. I would kiss you right on your nose.

Priestly blinks at the phone, at once flush with arousal and gooshiness both.

 **Me:**....just the nose?

Okay, so maybe there’s something to be said for all these keys.

 **Castiel:** Dean.  
**Me:** What  
**Castiel:** No  
**Castiel:** Not just the nose.

Priestly grins.

 **Me:** I'm being clingy.  
**Castiel:** It's okay.  
**Castiel:** I like you.

Priestly huffs at himself, running a hand over his face, cheeks warm.

 **Me:** Goof thing. Being emo about this.  
**Me:** Good thing  
**Me:** Like you too.  
**Me:** Hey.  
**Castiel:** Yes?  
**Me:** How many brothers do you HAVE?

There’s a pause, and Priestly wonders what Castiel’s thinking.

 **Castiel:** Several, one by marriage. Did one accost you?  
**Me:** You knew I might be accosted??  
**Castiel:** I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would be. Did someone go to the shop?  
**Me:** Lucifer.

There’s another fairly decent pause.

 **Castiel:** You’re texting me, clearly alive. I’d say you’re home free.  
**Me:** Funny, Cas.  
**Castiel:** I’m serious. He’s the scary one.  
**Castiel:** I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, however.  
**Me:** It’s okay, Cas. He’s pretty cool.

Priestly thinks about asking Cas to come over during the week when Cas beats him to it, and then his phone keeps buzzing.

 **Castiel:** I'm assuming it's not too soon to invite myself over  
**Castiel:** I'd very much like to see you again. I'd like to kiss you on the nose and I'd like to hold you and feel how warm you are. I'd like to keep you warm and  
**Castiel:** I very much want to take you in my mouth gently and listen to you as I do. Imagine the noises you might make, and then hold you  
**Castiel:** afterwards. I think I really want to just hold you.

Priestly realizes his hand is sweaty and his heart is beating hard, his lips parted. He licks them; they feel dry. Holy _shit_. Cas typed _take you in my mouth._ The split texts ding one after the other, leaving Priestly a little breathless and very much wanting to be held.

He has no idea how to respond to that. It’s honest and hot and—

 **Me:** All of that, Cas.  
**Me:** Please.  
**Castiel:** Say the word, Dean. I'm there.  
**Castiel:** After my appointment.  
**Castiel:** I'd have called you but I'm in the doctor's office now  
**Castiel:** But I meant it. I imagine the sounds I might get to hear you make  
**Me:** Doc office?  
**Me:** You okay?  
**Me:** Holy SHIT, Cas.  
**Me:** Srs you okay tho?  
**Castiel:** Routine.  
**Castiel:** Were I at home I'd call you. I've never done the  
**Castiel:** What is it called  
**Castiel:** I'd have called you and...said things to you  
**Castiel:** If that isn't too weird  
**Me:** Cas buddy I might have a problem in my pants right now  
**Me:** But I'd much rather you be here.  
**Me:** Blew my mind before  
**Me:** That was something special.  
**Me:** You make me feel shit I never have before  
**Me:** Not just cause it's new  
**Castiel:** Dean  
**Castiel:** I have to go  
**Castiel:** But imagine a kiss from me on the nose  
**Castiel:** *boop*

Priestly stares at his fingers as he taps, a trainwreck in text after text, and then Cas' responses one after the other, thinking about Cas thinking about Priestly in bed, ready to reply until Cas—texts a kiss to his nose. He'll probably have to turn his phone off or put it away when he’s called in. Priestly sends a final message on impulse.

 **Me:** Call me later, babe

He wonders immediately after if the 'babe' is too much, or if he’s too needy, or if Cas will eventually get bored with the virgin (man-virgin? Whatever). Priestly knows he’s being stupid. Even he can tell he has something maybe amazing that can happen with Cas. Have dinner with him here, at home. Get more of that smile. Get kisses. Get held. Find out what noises _Cas_ will make.

Priestly drops his phone in the papasan and leans against the bed, breathing out with a whoosh.

He cranes his head, looks over his shoulder up at the bed.

He climbs up.

He pulls off his shirt and is working on his shorts when he thinks of his phone in the papasan. He doesn’t have the guts to get it, but he shoves a palm over his dick and hears himself groan, loud.

"Fuck," he says.

He lets himself think of Cas, his voice. He could call Cas now (he isn’t ready for that, but he _could)_ and he rubs, goes for the zipper. He gets the button undone and pushes his shorts down his legs, pulls his knees up one after the other to get free. A sock comes half-off and that derails him for a bit, slows things down enough so he can get them both off and straighten the blanket and sheets out a little, toss his shorts, shirt and socks over the railing into the papasan.

Priestly figures he may as well get naked, do this right. His heartbeat flutters in his throat, and he can feel the coolness of air over the beginnings of sweat at his back. He pushes the blanket and sheet down, scoots up and lays on the cool fabric.

He just kind of breathes for a moment, thinking of Cas in his bed, no shirt. Cas in his boxer briefs, black and clinging to his ass.

Priestly hasn’t really let himself think about what a man looks like, not like this, not for a long time. That it turns him on is something. That it’s _Cas_ makes it embarrassingly hot, makes his skin feel tight and flushed and prickly.

_Take you in my mouth._

Priestly runs his hands over his torso, one down his thigh. He brushes fingers over himself, thinks of Cas running his knuckles over his cock through his underwear again—he’s just wearing plain, comfy underwear today, but still, Cas—Cas might touch him through the cotton, might start kissing where his thigh meets his hip.

Cas would--maybe he’d kiss him, here, center of his chest. Then he’d--drag his mouth, _here--_ he’d be gentle but—

Priestly closes his fingertips, just enough. His nipple’s already hard, and he gasps.

Cas would use his mouth, would know what he’s doing. He’ll find where Priestly likes being touched, and Priestly’d show him, if not directly then he’d definitely let him know when he found something. Cas might even find new spots, being a guy, he’d go for what he likes so Priestly could think about turning it around on him…

Priestly pushes his underwear off and kicks them. He doesn’t know if they make it off the bed and he doesn’t care. His cock lays against his belly and he holds it to him with one hand, caresses his balls with the other, just a second, just a tease. He touches inside his thighs (tickles, zings) and his hips, pushes down. Maybe Cas’d hold him down.

He lays a hand on his belly, slides it under his cock so it’s on the backs of his fingers. He watches himself, watches his nipples, pebbled, goosebumps on his arms. He leaves his right hand where it is and gently picks up his cock with his left, angles it up. He presses on his belly with his right because he wants to move too fast, so he breathes, gets himself under control.

He braces the base of his cock between his thumb and finger and uses his left hand. It feels different and it helps him sink into thinking this is Cas, Cas is touching him, Cas is gonna put his mouth on him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks about Cas’ lips, uses his thumb and the side of his left forefinger to make a tiny little ‘kiss’ to the side of his dick. He makes a weird noise, taking in too much air at once, and shudders.

Priestly opens his eyes and remembers—Cas’ mouth would be wet. He’s got some lube up here somewhere—

He has to let go and roll to the side to find the little bottle between the mattress and railing on one of the big slats, and he flops back down and braces himself again, using just one hand to pop the cap and squeeze what’s left in his hand. He’ll need more.

Maybe he and Cas’ll use it.

Priestly presses his head back into the mattress again, and this time he keeps his eyes closed. He wants to watch himself, but he brings up the image of Cas over him, looming a little, lean shoulders and a fucking gorgeous jawline, all intense dark blue eyes.

The fingers of his left hand—Cas’ lips—they kiss the tip of his cock and then—oh, _shit,_ down, they open and slide _down_ and they’re—they’re soft, not too tight, they’re careful and steady and—oh _Cas,_ he’d take him down all the way, maybe, maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he’d stop here, _slide_ back up and now that’s tighter, that’s moving skin.

Priestly groans, and Cas’ mouth moves up, up, kisses, licks. His fingers are doing the job, but it’s his mind that’s taking it outta the park.

\- -

Priestly has a few missed texts that he reads, panting, by the papasan. His legs are wobbly.

 **Cas:** I would rather be at home right now.  
**Cas:** In bed  
**Cas:** Cozied up to you.  
**Me:** You can soon  
**Me:** My place right  
**Cas:** It’s more home than here  
**Me:** Gabe doesn’t cuddle you  
**Cas:** No  
**Cas:** He’s a terrible brother.  
**Me:** I’m this close to coming and getting you

Priestly stares at that one for a little while before he deletes it.

 **Me:** I’ll squeeze you.  
**Me:** When do you wanna come over  
**Me:**?  
**Cas:** I’ll call you, it’s probably going to be late evening  
**Cas:** I have to do some tasks for Gabriel  
**Cas:** I expect squeezes.

Priestly grins, and then his phone buzzes again but it’s not Cas. It’s some automated thing telling him he’s nearing his limit for messages for the billing cycle, and that additional messages above said limit will cost him a five cents apiece.

“Worth it,” Priestly says.

\- -

"Dean?"

"Cas," Priestly says, a little out of breath just from excitement or—something. Just from the phone lighting up on the counter and dancing a little. "Hey," he says, the weird feeling under his skin anticipatory.

"Hello, Dean," Cas says, warm and low, and there it is—warmth spreading, maybe going tingly and Priestly smiles.

"How'd your appointment go? All your parts still attached?"

Priestly hears Cas huff through the phone. "As far as I can tell," he says, his voice faintly amused. "I might need someone to verify that."

Priestly snorts. "Do you now," he says, moving a pan aside on the cool stovetop so he can start prepping. "I might know a guy."

Flirting with Cas like this is so _easy_. Maybe it isn’t A-game, but it’s so flippin' easy to let the words out and be surprised by them.

"Is this guy at your place? I might be headed in that direction."

Priestly grins. "He might be. He might also be chopping shit for dinner, so if you have any requests—it's gotta be peppers and garlic and tomatoes etcetera." Priestly awkwardly holds the phone between his shoulder and jaw. It’s weirdly-shaped and smaller than the flip when it was open.

"Other veggies?" It sounds like Cas is getting in a car, presumably Gabe’s with its super-fancy Bluetooth stuff.

"You gonna go hands-free?"

"If you're lucky."

Priestly almost drops the phone. He’s pretty sure Cas hears his fumbling if the rough laughter is anything to go by.

"Okay, I gotta cook, buttmuffin." Priestly nudges a wayward pepper back towards the cutting board. "Your guy'll be wearing shorts and a shirt at the counter."

"Clothing?" Cas says. "Why Dean. You don't have to do that for me."

"I'm cooking," Priestly says. "See you soon, babe." It just comes out again, and Priestly maybe holds his breath.

"See you soon," Cas says, and the line clicks. That’s all.

Priestly breathes out.

\- -

"Oh, _Cas,"_ Priestly says.

Cliché. Predictable.

Cas' hand is down his pants, Cas is pushing his hips into his ass and Priestly's hips into the kitchen sink, so maybe it’s understandable.

Start over.

Priestly flips the pan, colorful pepper slices and garlic and tomatoes dancing and sizzling as they land.

Priestly kind of wants to add potatoes, but he'd have needed to add them at the beginning and he’s thinking of a lighter meal and his fridge is low anyway. He can throw some chicken breasts in the oven and broil them real quick with olive oil and—

"Broccoli," he says, snapping his fingers. Or he tries; he can't snap well with his left hand and his right is occupied.

He’s cutting up the florets into smaller pieces when he hears the door. He gives the pan a nudge to move stuff around and puts the knife down, wiping his hands on the towel tucked into his shorts.

Cas greets him with mushrooms, kale, and a kiss to the cheek.

Technically the kiss is first, because Priestly can't see inside the plastic bag, and it’s accompanied by stubble and a "hey, sweetheart," that has him distracted for a moment. It takes Priestly a second to realize he hasn’t responded to Cas and is just sort of grinning stupidly at him in the doorway. He huffs at himself and moves back to let Cas in, shutting the door behind him while Cas takes the bag to the kitchen.

“Smells lovely,” Cas says, gravel and glass as always.

“For you,” Priestly says, and gets to Cas as he’s putting the bag on the counter. He wraps arms around Cas’ waist and rocks them a little, putting a sort-of kiss to Cas’ neck, just kind of resting his lips there before tucking his chin over Cas’ shoulder.

“Hi,” he says, a little breathy. He’s worried this is all domestic and squishy. Cassie was sex and sex and sex, diners and food and sex. Lisa was sex then dating then domesticity that didn’t pan out. Cas—Cas’ll be different. He already is different, and if Priestly can not fuck this up…

One of Cas’ hands rests on his arm. “Food’s browning,” he says, and Priestly jumps and lets him go.

He tosses the veggies in the pan (Cas is duly impressed) and points at the cutting board. “Have at it, knife’s sharp.”

Cas washes kale (“Kale? _Kale,_ Cas?” “It’s a superfood, Dean”) and wipes down the mushrooms, baby criminis that he slices into cute little pieces. He leaves the tiniest one intact to show Priestly, and it is kind of really adorable.

Everything goes in the pan and the kale’s got a smell to it, like anything rich and dark green, but it all comes together.

“Sky’s darker,” Cas says, leaning against the counter, and Priestly glances behind him out the far window. Clouds have moved in and they look pretty menacing.

“Might storm,” he says, lowering the heat.

“Don’t like to drive in the rain,” Cas says, and Priestly catches on.

He moves the pan off the burner, turns into Cas’ side.

“You could stay here,” he says, a little nervous. He noses at Cas’ jaw, and Cas is just kind of standing there, letting him do it. “Still gotta check all your parts.”

Cas smiles, but it’s a little one, there and gone. Priestly leans back a bit. “Cas?”

Cas turns to look at him. “Am I moving too fast?” he says, eyes big and serious and worried.

Priestly blinks and takes a breath. “Dunno,” he says. “I’ll tell you if I can.”

Cas looks at him. “Is…is it that simple?”

Priestly reaches for him, strokes down his arm. “I don’t know,” he says. “You’ll—you’ll tell me if I screw up, right?” He tries to keep his eyes from darting everywhere but it’s not easy, and then Cas is tilting his head and moving in.

“Priestly,” he says, and then “Dean,” into his mouth. “Just—tell me if I—” he kisses him, and Priestly misses it, manages to kiss back the next time their lips make contact. “I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t—I don’t want to scare you.”

Cas keeps kissing him, and Priestly feels himself settling into it. He doesn’t know if he’s putting pressure on Cas by making him lead, especially if Cas thinks he’s going too fast, but he doesn’t know what too fast is, doesn’t know what he _doesn’t_ want and they’re just gonna have to learn together.

Thunder rumbles outside, and Priestly nibbles Cas’ lip because he’s a sap and he likes how it makes Cas move in his arms. “Not scaring me, Cas,” Priestly says, and he’s _hungry,_ the food smells great but it’s Cas under his lips—he’s the one crowding him now, he doesn’t mean to but he pushes Cas into the wall by the fridge and Cas grunts. Priestly’s gonna move back, give him some air but then Cas has hands in his hair and pulls him in kind of hard and there’s a little teeth.

Priestly groans; it feels like it comes up from his toes. He _moves_ into Cas and he shouldn’t be hard but he is, just enough, and fucking shit so’s Cas.

Cas grabs his ass and keeps a hand on the back of his neck, squeezes a little. It makes Priestly go tingly.

Thunder rolls again, vibrating the windows a little, and Cas loosens the hand on his ass and slides the other around between his collarbones. They break enough to pant at each other, and Cas gives him this strange little grin.

“Food,” he says, and Priestly smiles and feels lightheaded.

It doesn’t start raining till they’re putting dishes in the dishwasher, the pan left in the sink to soak. Priestly’s already leaning back in to steal kisses and Cas is just as crazy as he is for all they talk about moving too fast, because he’s nippy and he tastes of peppers and he pushes Priestly against the counter by the sink. It digs into his lower back a little and he grunts, so Cas lets him move forward and then there’s another boom of thunder and the power goes out.

The silence that falls is quickly broken by the hush of rain the builds to some kind of downpour, and they can barely see outside for the darkness of the clouds and thickness of the storm.

Priestly feels Cas’ hands on him, and they’re firm and big, bigger than he’s used to. They push his shirt off his shoulders and slide up under his tank, and Priestly struggles with the shirt until he can toss it over the bar into the living room so they don’t trip on it. Cas touches his hips and his belly and his chest, runs a hand up his throat and slides it over to his jaw, behind his ear, into his hair and draws him down again.

They make out in the dark kitchen but this is leading somewhere; Cas puts a leg between Priestly’s and moves into him, grinds his erection into Priestly’s hip and encourages Priestly to rub against his leg. Priestly lets himself clutch at Cas’ ass, squeeze him and span his hand over the small of his back, pull and hold on.

Cas nips his throat—probably leaves a mark, shit, that stings—and licks there, bites at his jaw and kisses him so thoroughly Priestly starts _staying_ lightheaded.

Cas’ hands hold his hips with a purpose and then he’s being turned, and his hands flail out to find the edges of the sink, and then Cas is crowding up along his back and Priestly can feel his dick against the back of his thigh.

Cas wraps an arm around Priestly’s hips to draw him back a little, _into_ him, and Priestly’s mind is a little blown because it’s evocative as fuck. Cas is subtle as a brick at the best of times, and all Priestly can hear is the rain pounding in his ears.

Cas has both hands on Priestly’s hips and it takes Priestly a second to realize he’s paused, maybe hesitating, so he plants his hands and _pushes_ back.

Cas’ fingers tighten and he freezes; then he groans. His forehead rests against Priestly’s back and it’s weird, trying to roll his hips backwards—not a motion he’s used to—but Cas guides him and that’s hot as anything.

Priestly finds himself arching his back, letting his head fall back. He’s not getting a lot of friction on the front-end (that’s cool, the counter’s a little unforgiving) and it’s more psychological than anything, the thought of Cas covering him like this, moving against him, maybe moving in him.

It is a little intimidating, but it’s more that Priestly thinks he _really likes_ the idea that sends his brain into a spiral.

When he can’t take it anymore—when Cas’ dick starts actually rubbing into the crease of his ass and Priestly’s pushing back into it, shorts and underwear in the way—he gropes for Cas’ hand and shoves it down the front of his shorts, fumbles to get the top button undone so there’s a little room. Cas accidentally pushes him into the counter, and there’s a brief breather as Cas fights his shorts too and then Cas slides his hand _into_ his underwear and pulls his dick up, starts stroking and pushing into him again.

“Fuck me,” Priestly breathes, more an exclamation than a directive, but holy shit it sets Cas off, and Priestly hangs on.

\- -

Priestly is beautiful and wonderful and perfect and Castiel really thinks this could have backfired but it’s hard to think with his cock nestled so lovingly and Priestly pushing back into him, Priestly’s equally lovely cock in his hand, warm and heavy and solid, skin over flesh.

Priestly’s hips are probably going to be bruised, or his left side is, because Castiel’s arm is shielding his right but the counter’s edge is unyielding. Priestly’s head is back, and Castiel wants to touch his forehead and hold him, and he thinks—he thinks he maybe can, because Priestly’s moving with him, giving him the resistance they need.

Priestly makes this high noise when Castiel holds his head, and he tries to kiss wherever he can. Mostly Priestly’s tank’s in the way, but he can kiss at his shoulder and try for his neck and mostly just put his face into Priestly and moan.

He makes another sound when Priestly’s right hand covers his and starts moving him _fast,_ and Castiel’s hips follow suit, lose a little of the rhythm but Priestly’s with him, more just pushing back in steady resistance but it’s—it’s enough—

 _“Dean,”_ Castiel manages, the breath stolen from him, and Priestly groans, tight and cut off when Castiel’s fist stutters.

Priestly moves their hands and Castiel tries to grip, heat spreading through his underwear against Priestly’s ass, and then Priestly gasps these little breaths and it’s hot and wet over their fists, copious and enough to make Castiel wish he were on his knees and Priestly was painting his skin.

He shudders again, hard, realizes he’s adding to the bruises on Priestly’s hip because he’s holding him to his own, pressing against him even as his cock stops moving in his pants, as Priestly’s slows its pulses in his hand.

Castiel doesn’t know why he can’t let go with his left hand, and at least his right isn’t squeezing with it, too hard, just holding Priestly, hot and slowly softening, sticky and wet and absolutely lovely.

Castiel feels skin under his face and licks; he thinks Priestly’s shirt collar moved enough. Priestly makes this little noise and he realizes Priestly’s shirt collar moved too far, exposing the back of his neck, a bump of vertebra, and Priestly tugs at it so he can breathe.

He reaches up with his right hand and Castiel can smell his come, and he intercepts the hand on its way down. Priestly freezes, perhaps understanding he’s got come on his shirt now, but Castiel moves back—inhales sharply because he’s somewhat glued himself to his clothes and worked them into joining creases in poor Priestly’s backside—and Priestly tugs to get them out of his butt. It makes Priestly snort, but then Castiel’s helping him turn around and he’s sucking his first two fingers into his mouth and Priestly goes wobbly-kneed in front of him.

Still warm, salty, sweet, and Priestly _groans._

 

 _“Cas,_ what,” he says, and he’s touching himself with his left hand, dragging it up his dick—Castiel can barely see him doing it—and he gently pulls off his hand with a lick, breathing a little hard still.

He jumps when Priestly’s left touches the front of his pants—they’re a mess, it’s starting to feel disgusting—and Priestly _gropes_ him, gentle but not quite gentle enough, and Castiel should be disgusted, he should push Priestly off, he shouldn’t press into his hand and he can feel the come soaking through.

He lets Priestly’s right hand drop, but Priestly keeps his left cupped over Castiel’s groin, for whatever reason is in his mind.

Rain tumbles down outside, and the power remains out, the apartment dark.

“We are fucking gross,” Priestly says, voice sounding ragged, and Castiel lets out a hoarse laugh of his own.

 

**FRIDAY**

_In which brothers speak of fathers_

Late Friday night, Sam stares at his screen.

He’s back in Palo Alto at the small house he rents with Jess (part of a housing program and part Jess’ parents’ generosity), his stomach still happily working on the cookies Jess made earlier in the evening. Dean’s chat blinks in the corner, in response to a conversation both overdue and too soon, all the better to get it out now.

It had started with Dean saying hey, and asking about the last stretch of his classes, asking after Jess and maybe planning a summer hangout. It had segued into Sam asking about Cas and Dean being weird, and then kind of mushy, which is hilarious because Dean isn’t the most apt at emotions, never mind translating them through technology.

It moves to Sam saying that Dean should call Dad, because Dad had called _him_ on Thursday, and it’d got Sam to thinking. He’d told himself he wouldn’t press but sometimes his fingers move before he can stop them.

 **Dean:** I dunno, sammy. it's dad.  
**Me:**

Sam thinks for a while, looking at the cursor, blinking. He knows there’s a big gap there. Dean had always been the one who'd idolized Dad, who'd wanted to be just like him until he realized he couldn't and it'd torn him apart.

 **Me:** It's your call, but you might find you guys can talk now.

Sam stares at the screen a while, breathing.

 **Me:** Hair and everything.

There’s a pause, and Sam waits.

 **Dean:** okay  
**Dean:** i guess it can't hurt to try.

Sam breathes out.

 **Me:** Like I said, your call, dude. But I definitely think it's worth a shot.  
**Me:** I’m your brother and I’m smart.

Another pause, this one shorter.

 **Dean:** ha.  
**Dean:** thank you, brother.

Sam blinks and breathes out some more. He has to swallow through a tight throat, just a little bit. Their conversation closes not long after, and Sam doesn't realize what weight lifts off his chest until it’s lessened. Not totally gone, but definitely less.

Sam brushes his teeth and belatedly puts away the pita chips he’d been guiltily snacking on (they were Jess’ go-to snack when she needs “carbs to study with”). He glances at the fridge in the kitchen. There are baking ingredients listed on the stick-on whiteboard, so Sam knows more cookies are in his future. He looks down at the Stacey’s bag in his hand—he doesn’t deserve his girlfriend. He adds more pita chips to his own mental list.

Sam tries to get into bed as quietly and smoothly as possible, but Jess just rolls over and pulls him in, wrapping him up pretty effectively. He tangles himself up in her in turn, putting his nose into her hair.

“How’d it go?”

Jess’ sleepy voice is something he can listen to for the rest of his life, he thinks.

Sam smiles, and doesn’t say anything, but he knows Jess can feel it and she sighs, big. “That’s great, babe,” she mumbles, and Sam keeps smiling, eyes shut and body slowly melting into the bed.

Sam had picked up a phone and found a father. He’d flown to Kansas in a plane and driven back in a car. He’d come to Santa Cruz and gained his brother back, and now he’s home in Jess’ arms with all these things even though they aren’t all _here_ with him.

He goes to sleep feeling a lot better than he has in a long time.

 

**HOME**

On Sunday, Priestly looks at his phone.

He wakes the screen, and looks at the number that Sammy had given him, scrawled on the back of a worn business card for Bobby's first auto shop in South Dakota, edges fuzzed and soft, a corner missing where it folded over and over until it fell away.

He puts the numbers in and touches the little green phone key, brings it to his ear and listens to the tone.

Static, then:

"Hello?"

Gruff, familiar.

"Dad?" he says, and he hears a breath stall on the other side.

"Dad," he says. "It's me."

He inhales.

"It's Dean."

**Author's Note:**

> This little poop was to be a Big Bang that couldn't break 9K, and thusly was downgraded to a Mini. And then it poinked past 11K. And then it just would. Not. Stop.
> 
> There may or may not be a sequel in the works, largely born of stuff I couldn't fit or that didn't feel right for the timeline of Pesto. The sequel may or may not be Castiel's Caprese.


End file.
